When Flowers Wilt

       When I first started a garden I was 14 years old and my parents were there to help me. I planted the garden because the plants were never just plants to me, I saw plants as I saw people, with different personalities and perhaps even feelings, but they were different than people. Plants are more forgiving, more understanding and they spread more love than any other being on earth. Only a few people know this, the ones who are connected to nature like my family.

      Each plant felt different. The trees were tall and strong, I felt that I could always rely on them because they'd always be there. I could climb the branches and they comforted me. The flowers always sent me messages of happiness in their bright colors and lovely smells. The fruits and vegetables are always sacrificing themselves so that we have something to eat and they never hesitate to do so. The grass and soil are always so soft and cool on long days.

         The plants understand me in ways that the ordinary person doesn't and I understand them. The connection I have with nature is strong but not as strong as the connection I have with my mother. She's the one who taught me about nature and how to care for it. My mother was a smart woman who taught me everything I know, and she taught my father numerous concepts as well. My father would never be the man he is today if it wasn't for my mother. I love both of my parents so much because they do everything they can for me and I don't know how I'll ever repay them.

      Over time my mother got sick and kept getting sicker. My mother attended multiple appointments and was tested before the doctors could  find out what was wrong with her. My father was scared to find out her diagnosis and so was I. Even though mother was sick, she would still help tend the gardens everyday, in fact it was as though the gardens had made her stronger in some way. All of us would sit in the gardens everyday, snacking on the growing fruit and vegetables. We would all converse together about different ideas and everyday things but one afternoon my parents got into an argument about what would happen if mother was going to die. Talking about death is what everyone avoided until that moment and the thought of my mother being gone scared me. 

        Our days together were content as long as we had hopeful ambitions about the future until mother had to live in the hospital for awhile. Our hope began to wilt as mother got weaker but the gardens would never wilt as long as mother is still alive. Father and I worked harder to tend the gardens and we always saved the best of our harvest for mother. The food would make her healthier but only for moments at a time. I picked the healthiest and most extravagant flowers to exchange the ones in my mother's hospital room, every other day when I could, and she was always appreciative of the flowers. I visited my mother often and father spent most of his time with her leaving me with the daily responsibilities at home.

        I had to do the chores we used to do together on my own. I had to cook for myself and for my father whenever he was home. I had to water the garden, prune and I had to make sure the plants were well fertilized. I planted new plants and seeds every so often to grow more beauties. Life at home was strenuous in the absence of my mother. Father was always so distressed about mother and mother was worried about our well being more than her own. The plants, especially the flowers, started to wilt and die in spite of our efforts to work with them. I hoped that the wilting and dying don't signify the life of my mother. The plants have never wilted before now. I told father about the garden mishaps and he confirmed my suspicions, mother is indeed dying.

        I visited my mother for the last time during the weekend and I wish she would have lived longer. I held her hand and we told each other “ I love you” and my father got to be there too to say his goodbyes. The funeral was heartbreaking as well as the days that followed. The garden had died no effort of mine was able to revive it. I had failed and given up on my garden which was a vastly horrendous way to repay them considering that those plants had helped me in many ways that had changed me.

        Father always sat in the garden among the rotting fruits and vegetables. He sat in the same spot everyday for a long period of time, so one day I sat down next to him with a plop. I asked him “What are we going to do without her?” He started talking about mother, what we missed about her, and how much we loved her. My father told me great stories about her, her accomplishments and failures, and he told me the story of how they met. They met in a botanical garden.  The stories just kept progressing from that moment and I asked questions every once in awhile. When we finished conversing about our memories, we embraced very tightly with tears lightly falling, and over my father’s shoulder I saw a little sapling, I looked again and saw more little seedlings. Plants were sprouting up from within the dead plants like phoenixes rising from their ashes after they have died.“Dad look! The plants are growing, I think that means mother is still with us” I said. “She will always be with us, so everything will be alright” he said and we sat there in both joy and sorrow.

        Life slowly got better from that moment and our garden was the most vigorous we’ve ever seen before with a fluctuation of colorful flowers that told me my mother will always be there within the earth so I will garden with all my efforts.