the plant lady

he settled in for a visit like most of the plant ladies had in the past.  he instructed the new/ old girl how to check for moistness, first, before she watered.  i remembered her red hair from the days before my maternity leave.  she was having a son and so was i.  i've wondered about her over the years.  i, sadly, thought that hard times had befallen her.  she was so teary and emotional before we parted ways.  things were not going well with the father.  she was losing her autonomy to him and the boy.  i remembered the smell of her patchouli from time to time and hoped that she made it past the baby blues.  that her man stepped up to the plate.  that she found the tides of motherhood an anchor to this world and not a stepping stone to the next.  i was giddy when the past rushed into my office like the smell of a college dorm room, all smiles and curly hair.  we have almost seven year old boys.

the gravity of the situation, however, had not sunk in.  now i know there is another seven year old boy in the world who just lost his grandma.  she was the one who filled that empty position for the last seven years, watering plants in our office.  i knew her.  she shared her family.  she gave me gardening advice.  she told me stories from the bar she worked at in her younger years.  i could sense when things were hard for her.  and she gave me the sweetest pep talk when things were hard for me.  i didn't get to say goodbye.  i took her presence for granted, and never realized that her extended absence had slowly turned into eternity.

he said, you knew both of their stories?  true, i am a receptacle for the happenings in other peoples lives.  i realize, only now, how nice it is to remember a stranger and recall them.  if my boundaries were tighter, i would never have known the pain of the us soldier with ptsd.  or the struggles of my neighbors.  or the despair of a missionary.  i feel fortunate to have heard these people.  they have taught me so much.  it's wonderful to take a few frames from a life and hold them up to the light for a second glance.  a memory.  who you are matters.  if only to me.