My green thumb

My mother is anxiously looking forward to getting back to her gardening. It's where she's happiest. It's where she communes with her Creator. And while I'm not a gardener, I've spent enough time observing her--from a perfectly placed lawn chair with a glass of ice tea and a good book on hand--that I completely understand. I've watched her transform the grass, growing out of control like an old man who needs a good shave, into a beautifully manicured lawn. I have pictures of my mom, when she first bought her home, digging in the hard, red dirt, not believing that she could grow anything out of it much less create a beautiful garden. I've spent too many hours and days in the gardening section of Lowe's and Home Depot with my mother as she fawned over ivys and clematis.

That woman is so passionate about all things botanical that it's rubbed off on me. Well, kind of. I mean I'm not looking for acidic soil to plant hydrangeas or anything. But I never would have imagined that I would be the one pointing out forsythias and rhododendrons to friends when these plants start to show themselves amidst the gritty urban backdrop I call home.

Before my mom relocated to the country, this obsession of hers manifested in an apartment filled with houseplants. As a child, I named them and watered them. (I was an only child okay!) But that inkling of interest died as well as the pothos my mother gave me as a dorm warming present when I went off to college.

My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer a few years ago. The cancer had grown into the lymph nodes under her arm. I traveled over 200 miles one way to get to her and then another 100 or so miles to accompany her to chemotherapy. I had to be by her side. I didn't know how much longer my mother would be around, out in her garden, with beads of sweat dripping down her nose as she bent over to pull the pesky weeds out of her flower bed...just like the cancer in her body. She kept gardening. It made her happy. It gave her peace and she communed with her God.

I would travel back and forth from my apartment to her house--200 miles too far away--when it was time for her to go for chemo. It wasn't until after her surgery and a positive outcome that I noticed that the number of plants in my apartment had gone from...okay, none....to five. Having them in my presence was like having my mother close to me.

My mom has received a clean bill of health again this year and I have about eleven vibrant plants throughout my apartment. They are symbolic of so many things to me. They remind me of what's important--nurturing my relationships.