Something has just hit me. Struck me like a lightening bolt. I was watering my two plants in this whole house. One of them I realized is quite small. I suddenly tuned in to how little it really is. Do you know how LONG I've had this little ivy plant? Well, I had forgotten. In the busy day to day of our lives, I just water this little thing, and keep going, not paying it much attention ever. Today, just now, I stopped. I looked at it. It's a wonder it's still alive. It has never grown but it has never died. I was given this plant when Lucas was two months old, just a tiny baby. Ok so you see where I'm going with this... I don't think the plant is Lucas, well, maybe I might think that a little. The thought has just crossed my mind that this plant has been with me as long as Lucas has (or now his spirit). It has stayed the same. Like him. If you think about it, nothing has changed. Well, I have changed; morphed into this whatever I am...but he has not changed, how I feel about him, how he is to me in my life, his memory, the whole thing.
How does this plant live? I don't water it that much. I water the one by the sink far more since it's by the sink. The little one I'm talking about gets forgotten a lot. It just dawned on me today that it gets forgotten. So I started talking to it (hush, no comments from the peanut gallery) and I said to it, "how are you still living litlte thing? you get no attention, I barely water you, how long have I had you anyway?" and I stopped dead. I remember when I was given it, he was alive. So tiny. So here's the message, and I'm getting it now as I type and let some things go. The message is that he is gone and this plant is still here. He is gone and the plant is still here. Living, breathing, not growing, but still here. Is it him? I digress. The message is, life goes on. I am still alive. I have chosen life and living in it. I have chosen to be in these moments and mother and raise these boys, not close the blinds, live under a blanket, and be a non particpant in life. So there, I said it.
What to do about all that now? I have to chew on it a while.
You cook, you clean, you go to work, you nourish, you love, you scold, you are professional and yet you hang your hat on every dust particle in your home. You are a woman. Some women are Moms and some are not. You are still a woman. We are all made similarly. We are strong.
2 comments:
Would it take away from the seriousness of this if I told you it makes me want to break into a song from the Pochontos movie? Maybe yes. Tee Hee
Water and care for that poor little, spindly ivy plant and feed it and watch it flourish. That, in a small way, is how you deal with your baby boy's death, and maybe one day that lush and beautiful plant can be a wonderful reminder, not a sad one.
Charlene, Austin
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