It’s amazing that anyone would let me be a mother. Judging from my complete and utter lack
of skill in nurturing a plant, one would assume that any living thing in my
care would wither and die. I
cannot keep anything green alive.
I want to. I mean well. But my good intentions are belied by
the inevitable browning of leaves and wilting of flowers that hang like candy
canes and mock me. Truth is, I
don’t know the first thing about growing a garden. My eyes glaze over and I’m pretty sure I go at least partially
deaf when the helpful nursery expert starts talking about what needs sun, when
to prune (the definition of which, I will freely admit, I really do not know),
and how to fertilize.
“What grows
best in ignorance?” I think to myself.
“You know, something that prefers complete inattention and ineptitude?”
Funny I’ve never found a plant with those words written on a cute little tag
dangling from its gorgeous blossoming buds.
Which is why the shrubs in my back yard must grow in spite
of my best efforts to murder them.
It’s also why things get a little out of control with ugly.
So, just like the trooper that she was, Mom would come to
see us in Oregon, dig out a pair of gardening shears from wherever she left
them the last time she visited, and head to my back yard. We would stand sipping lemonade in our
air-conditioned kitchen and watch her slave away. It was tradition.
And it was the only thing standing between me and a weed jungle.
On one such occasion, she asked whether I wanted a
particular bundle of stems and leaves to be a tree or a bush. I was stunned that I even had such an
option. I thought decisions such
as these were made long before someone like me ever got involved. Further, it was just a small
shrub. And though I liked the idea
of a tree standing where this little bush was, that simply seemed impossible
given its stunted height and stubby shape. But Mom and her shears went to work. Together, they cut away the numerous
lower stems and branches that hid what was eventually revealed to be something
that looked very much like a trunk.
It was small, and slight, and certainly not too sturdy, but by the time
she was finished, that hedge resembled a tree.
That was nearly 6 years ago. Today, that little bush is a towering Cherry Tree that
shades our backyard and provides hours of climbing enjoyment for Liz’s
granddaughters. See evidence here:
Kelby Defies Gravity in Our Tree
And when I look at it, I am reminded of
Mom’s life-lesson
#11
Sometimes a little loss is required
for a lot of growth.
Like that tree, we must sometimes lose part of ourselves in
order to grow into what we were meant to be. A little pain makes us stronger, sturdier, more impressive
versions of ourselves. A moment of
adversity, can shape for us a future of beauty.
I can’t help but think of my mom when I look at that
tree. I think of the many ways she
shaded me throughout my life. I think of how she shaped me into who I am now
and who I still hope I can grow to be. I think of her example of strength, and
endurance and heart. And I think
about how I miss her. Still.
And I remember the end of her life, punctuated by pain and
suffering but surrounded by love. And I know those fleeting moments were
necessary for her growth, for her future of eternal beauty. And how they were necessary for mine. And I’m grateful for my knowledge of
those things.
So on this Mother’s Day, I will stand at the base of my
tree. The tree she shaped. The tree that stands tall in spite of
my inattention to it. And I will
think of her. And know that I
still have some growing to do.
