Weeding the Path of Grief
An Unexpected Discovery
I never understood the appeal of gardening. On your knees, in the dirt and grass. Pulling weeds, watering, trimming, and maybe growing flowers and/or veggies. Worst thing me for — dirt under my fingernails. That’s the same reason I never threw pots.
My Nana could make anything grow. Me….pothos and cactus in Arizona. Anything else was a waste of time and effort, and I felt guilty about the money spent on the plants and their subsequent demise. Plus, I’m of the gender-strict mother who considered gardening not something that “well-brought-up” girls did.
We returned to Vermont and decided to add greenery to our bedroom after Googling “house plants that can resist just about anything.” The nursery recommended arrowhead and mother-in-law tongue. A friend gave us a single Christmas cactus leaf and six years later, after three replanting into larger pots, we had our first — and only bloom — in time for my husband to see his efforts rewarded before he went to Respite House for his last days.
He did not want to trim or thin any of the plants — he loved the jungle effect along the windows, measuring the growth, checking for new shoots…
