jennIf you know me, you know that I have a love of plants, a growing hobby that I picked up less than a year ago. I’ve had many people ask me how I got started in plants, and this story is a bittersweet one.
Up until a year ago, I had maybe three houseplants. Random bits that I picked up from a grocery store, trying to liven up my living space. I’ve been in my house for years and always treated it as a house, rather than a home – so this was a perfect way to bring some life into it.
And then a year ago, a major life event happened that brought an extreme amount of grief, and the beginning of a beautiful obsession.
Rewind to just a month or so earlier, I picked up a new bed frame. Since doing a lot of work on my house and making it more homey, I was buying pieces to outfit the fresh space. New sheets, fresh pillows, a shelf for my plants.
I had plans to put the frame together on my own, which caused one of the only fights that me and my boyfriend of the time, Chris, got into. He was in the middle of training for a bodybuilding competition, working full time, finishing up a welding degree, plus maintaining a relationship pretty amazing girlfriend, his time was limited.
I had told him that I was going to put it together (strong independent woman and all); and he said to wait for him to do it.
He needed to be needed.
I reluctantly agreed (He was already disappointed that I installed my bidet in all by myself).
That weekend, Chris died.
I returned the bed frame.
Gone went the strong independent woman, and in came helpless, depressed, hopeless Jenn.
When Chris left me, I told his mom there were just a few things I wanted of his: a gray sweatshirt that he always wore, a size to small, it always smelled. I wanted a journal that I gifted to him to write out his thoughts since he was a man with a mind going a million miles a minute. And I wanted the one and only plant he owned – a housewarming gift from his mom.
If I couldn’t have a living boyfriend, I wanted the living thing that was closest to him.
I found the plant quite unappealing with its wrinkly leaves and brown tips, but I proudly took it home to add to my tiny collection, later adding a handful of other plants acquired from Chris’s funeral.
I split up an arrangement into multiple plants so that I could have a piece of him in every room in my house. I needed to feel hopeful, needed to feel some bright thoughts.
After a couple months, I got the determination and will power to re-purchase the bed frame.
I was re-energized, finding my zest for life back. I set up a new plant shelf, and set my Chris-plant right on the top.
I put back on my determined and strong independent woman hat, took all the bed frame pieces out of the box, laid them all out on the floor, leaned the box against my bedroom door.
Within moments, the zest left, the uncontrollable sadness took back over, the grief became heavy again, and I was so upset having to do this on my own.
In the middle of me struggling to piece together this bed frame, bawling my eyes out because I should not have been doing it alone, angry, sad, frustrated, the box fell over.
Knocked down my plant shelf.
Knocked down the corn plant.
Unpotted and bent and broke my plant from Chris.
What lesson is this teaching me?
Something I have to frequently ask myself, and remind myself.
I took a deep breath and did what I knew how to do.
I’m a problem solver.
I got this.
I try to fix the plant.
I joined plant Facebook groups.
I asked questions.
Posted pictures.
Picked up the broken pieces dived head first into making this right.
I couldn’t bring Chris back, so I had to bring this plant back.
I chopped and propped the plant and followed all of the advice out there on the internet.
I now had split this into two plants to try to finagle with.
Two chances to save the living thing that once shared the air with Chris.
That gave him oxygen.
Gave him life.
Both pieces of the plant died.
My plant was dead.
Chris was dead.
In came all the feelings again of hopelessness, helplessness.
I was never going to let another plant die again. I couldn’t save Chris, at least I could save my plants.
Thus began the obsession. Continuing to learn about all different plants, different methods of propagation and fertilization. Watering schedules and lighting and humidity.
My 5 plants have turned into about 50.
They have started to take space in my heart where there was once a big hole.
As I look around my home now, filled with thriving plants, I see not just a collection of leaves and stems, but a testament to resilience and growth.
Each plant symbolizes a step forward, a new beginning, and a piece of the love and life I shared with Chris.
Through nurturing these plants, I’ve nurtured myself.
My plants remind me daily that even in the face of loss and grief, life continues to grow.
And while I couldn’t save Chris, I’ve found a way to honor his memory and keep a part of him alive with the life that surrounds me. 🌿
