My quiet (at least when I am at home) life is back to being quiet. After a brief 2 1/2 days home dear daughter moved into her apartment near the university she attends, and will begin her last year of college on Monday. I find that I miss her all the time, even when she IS here, simply because she is not REALLY here anymore. The mother/daughter dynamic has been forever changed by this point. Not that this is bad, it just is, and it is different.
My daughter is better than I am at many things, not the least of which is the way she treats houseplants. Yes, houseplants. I’ve never been very good at houseplants and even the ones that are easy to grow generally fail to grow much for me. I did once have a plant called a ‘prayer plant’ for over 10 years, but that may have had more to do with the fact that the plant folded it’s lovely leaves in prayer each evening when the sun went down than it had to do with my care of it. Anyway, 2 years ago daughter and I each bought a small philodendron at the grocery store. We repotted them with the same soil. She took her plant to college with her, talked to it, water it, carried it home in a box when she came for holiday breaks, and named it Glory. I watered mine and hoped for the best. Two years later, Glory is huge, several feet long, and my little plant has grown maybe 6 inches. At least it is still alive.
I lamented to daughter over the fact that her plant was a giant, while mine still a midget. “Do you talk to it?,” she asked. “Did you name your plant?” No and no.
I was left in charge of Glory this summer while daughter worked at a camp in another state. With some trepidation I accepted the challenge. I watered her and talked to her at the same time. Sometimes I’d just go in to say ‘HI’. I prayed for God’s blessing on the little, or rather not so little, plant. Hubby even said ‘good morning’ a few times. Glory made it through the summer with only one yellow leaf. What a relief! Then yesterday, when I am helping daughter unload her car which she had parked the day before in front of the apartment, what, or rather who, do we find forgotten in the car? A very wilted and slightly cooked Glory. I was shocked! Not only that, but little Braveheart (Jade plant sprout) was there, forgotten, as well. Shaking my head I carried the poor plants to the kitchen and poured cool water on the soil and the leaves and urged them to live in spite of it all. What will happen to poor old Glory is now in the hands of her Creator. I told daughter that she’d probably need to prune Glory rather severely to save her, but I thought she might make it. We’ll see.
I’m sure there is a really profound spiritual point to this story, but it hasn’t come to me yet. The only thing I can come up with is “don’t forget about something or someone you care for”, or “a little neglect can lead to a quick death.” I don’t know. I think it’s time to go say a prayer for daughter and her plants.
