The Will to Live in the House of Death
I yelled and brought my husband close to see what the clamor was about. He looked at the object of my uproar, grunted, and walked away. Obviously, he did not share in my enthusiasm. My plant had birthed a baby leaf. You have to understand my house is where plants come to die. Every year, I go and find a Wandering Jew to take home. I find the most brilliant, thriving beautiful plant the one that I believe has the best chance for survival. They always have vibrant purple and green leaves, vines that coil and move like Medusa’s hair. Then I proceed to thank the most unfortunate plant for its life and tell it how it is marked for death. My husband and I do take care of it, water it, talk to it (well mainly me) and leave it to bask in the half shade and half sunlight. By the end of the season, the leaves are dull, the brilliant vines limp over the pot and gasp for last breath.
So it was rather surprising when two years ago, on the day of love and romance, my husband brought home a houseplant. He knew my track record for all living plants and yet decided to take a chance. The plant flourished in a display of beautiful round leaves until that one day it was down to one leaf. One magnificent leaf had the will to live in the house of death. I had neglected it and left to its own devices. Finally, I had decided to put plant of love in the windowsill with some wilting Impatiens on the off-chance I would remember to chat with it and give it a drink of water. I figured that one leaf was its grave marker, but one morning after considerable time, I was rewarded with the new birth of one tiny little leaf in which I screamed and called for my husband. It brought to mind the years I had spent neglecting myself until finally I was brought to the point of tears and shattered dreams. But, there was small part of me that had the will to live in the house of my self-made disaster. God and the universe moved me back into the sunlight, and surrounded me with a nurturing environment. Eventually, I learned to seek out the ideas and change of thought patterns that help me grow and nourishes my soul. I have learned that the people who take care of themselves and set boundaries are the ones that flourish, have the most love to give, and creativity is birthed. As the light poured in through my window, I gave the plant a drink of water and smiled at another new leaf that was born. I think it’s time to shop for a new Wandering Jew.