I don’t suppose many of you can look at a plant you have growing in your home and name the exact date that it became part of your life.
Strangely enough, I can. December 11, 2014.
Walking into the funeral home that evening of mom’s visitation, my attention was immediately drawn to the beautiful plants and flowers surrounding the casket, every single one them a wonderful tribute to the people she had touched.
The cards on the plants told of relatives from across the country I hadn’t talked to in years. Some were from her pre-retirement co-workers whose names immediately brought to mind stories she told of her life at the hospital. Yet others were names I didn’t recognize but now are burned into my memory.
That was nearly 2 years ago.
Some of the arrangements were shared with loved ones. Some were donated.
Today there remains in my possession one last plant. The memory plant.
The memory plant has seen better days. The green is less illustrious and the branches are a little worn.
But it’s still standing.
It’s located in the parlor and is the first thing I see when I walk into the house from the garage.
My memory plant has been tugging at my thoughts lately.
Some days I faithfully water it, prune it, and take care of it as though it just arrived brand new.
Other days I don’t give it a second look. Eventually it’s pouting leaves and crisp texture catch my attention and I immediately give it the attention it needs to survive.
Some days I think of my mom faithfully. I cherish the memories, doing everything in my power to keep them alive and help them survive. I want to make them a part of my everyday life.
Then there are times when I am neglectful, either because I let life get in the way or because it’s too painful to remember that she’s not here.
Sometimes I am guilty of doing whatever I can to NOT think of the good times. I have an extra glass of wine or an extra piece of cake as a distraction. I beat myself up for not being stronger, which inevitably makes the self-esteem go a little lower and the depression a bit more pronounced.
I go days and weeks thinking I’ve gotten over the worst of it, then I come across something with her handwriting, and the grief returns.
The memory plant is a connection between my old life and my new life.
I’m learning how important it is to cultivate the memories rather than let them turn to weeds. I’m learning to consider the pain like a battle scar, something to be proud of.
If you have lost someone close to you and have put up a wall to protect yourself from the hurt, maybe you are neglecting your own “memory plant”. I understand. I share your pain.
But don’t be discouraged. God comforts us in our times of grief.
So let us celebrate the struggle.
I have enjoyed taking a little break from work and reading these posts.
I am 76 and I have experienced all the losses which have been posted above.
I lost my dad when he was only 44 yrs. old. Lost my mother in 2010, she was almost 89.
Our memories will never leave us. Our hurt weakens and our sadness fades over time, but we will always have a void in our hearts for our loved ones.
I lost my husband in 2000. I still talk to him. I got thru his death by writing him
everyday, somehow when I saw it on paper, it made me feel like he knew what was in my heart.
I have learned we have to accept death as a “rest stop” in life. because our loved ones are in heaven and living in joy forever. Hopefully we will all meet again.
jane
Jane, thank you for writing and sharing. You give us a beautiful reminder. Our memories never leave us. I love your idea of writing letters to your husband.
We have 6 memory plants. My father-in-law who was an LCMS pastor died tragically in July 2012. He was 67. One of the gift baskets we received had 7 little sprouts in it. Now I have often said that I have a “brown” thumb. I am very good at killing plants. But I figured I try transplanting these 7 little plants; and hope one or two might grow. Four years later and 6 of the 7 are thriving in spite of me. ? One even got so big that I had to split it into two pots. Whenever I water or prune the plants, I try to talk about “Papa” to our 4 boys. Just like your memory plant, our thriving plants remind me of my father-in-law’s life and that life goes on. Also they remind us of the eternal life he now enjoys. Funny how these plants that survive in spite of my “brown” thumb can bring such comfort.
Jenny, I’m sorry to hear of the loss of your father-in-law. It sounds like he was an amazing man. How wonderful that the plant has continued to sprout and grow, and your boys will hear wonderful stories about him.
What a cool idea, the grief process is long and full of tender, hurtful places. May you continue to heal.
my daddy would have been 79 today and he died 6 months ago yesterday, I love to see the plants that were sent to us by those that loved him along with his family.
I’m sure your dad was a wonderful person, Renea.
Your message is very touching to me because I have a Memory Plant in our home and a Cane chairs my grandmother caned. Our plant is called the Hoya plant and I have carried it around all the years I have been married (47 yrs) to honor my family. It is the only plant I have kept alive. Thanks for the memories I took away from your post!
That is really amazing you have kept this plant for so long Marilyn! What a treasure.
Sorry about your mom. It is fitting that I read this today,as a member of our church had passed during the night,but more than that there have been some constant reminders that God takes the pain away when we pass. My brother-in -law passed a year and a half ago and my mother-in -law back in 2009. Both had a love for nature and the night before my mother-in-law passed we were watching a documentary on eagles and were in awe of the beauty of their wingspan and how freely they flew. I knew when I left her that night,that she would be gone the next day . I could feel it . She would be at peace.For my brother-in-law it was a cardinal.Again both birds flying without a care in the world. It brings a sense of peacefulness when I see the birds fly .I know both of them are free and without pain. We will always have the memories of those we lost. God Bless.
Thank you for sharing Patty. These are treasured reminders of wonderful people in your life.