Green Thumb

Green Thumb

            My dad has a green thumb. I don’t know exactly when my mom realized it, but she did brag about his growing ability for as long as I can remember. People gave my mom flowers and plants, and she learned quickly to hand them over to my dad for proper care, and once they were in his care, they bloomed. Other than a Christmas cactus that eventually took over the front window, my mom and plants were incompatible.

            I inherited my mom’s inability to keep plants alive. My mother-in-law gave me a clipping off of her house plant and told me, “It’s so easy to keep alive!” with instructions on how to do so.

            … I killed it.

            My friend Kim gave me a clipping from her house plant. “It’s taking over our condo! Please, take several!”

            … I killed it.

            A company sends cabbages to third grade students every year. There are always a couple of extras, so last year I took one home. Third graders get these things to grow 40 pounds or larger!

            … I killed it.

            My mom died. People recognized the significance of such a loss and the inability to really do anything to make my family and me feel better, so they sent plants to remind us they care about her and us. Addie’s childcare provider Phyllis and her family gave me an orchid. I was grieving and saw the orchid and thought, “Great. I’ve heard those things are hard to keep alive and I didn’t even manage to keep alive the ‘Sorry-we-make-Chris-travel-so-much!’ plant that Becky had given me, thinking I could manage to water it ONCE A MONTH and keep it alive better than her!”

            One year, 8 months, and 22 days later, my orchid has never been so beautiful! In death, my mom’s positive energy lights up living things. In death, those living beings include plants.

            Perhaps my mom is an angel with a green thumb.