It's the little things . . .

Some might say I'm in recovery. It's been a little over three months since I knelt in the hot Florida sun and watched someone I loved die, so quickly that there was no time to say goodbye or any of the other things I've since wished I'd said more often in the preceding months.

As the EMT's arrived,one pulled me away and ordered,"I need you stay calm and tell me what I need to know."

Perhaps that was when it started. The ability to move through that day and the next and the weeks since doing all the necessary things that were required of me. Masking the heartache, an internal anquish that I'm most aware of in the first moments of awakening. His things are still in the house,the telephone rings with callers asking for him, mail addressed to him arrives with regularity and, if I don't pickup the phone, I'll hear his voice on the answering machine. But with each passing day I'm becoming more accepting that his chair is empty and that I won't hear his footsteps on the stairs or his key opening the front door.

My work has stretched to include doing the chores and tasks that my husband had done--banking, paying bills, post office and grocery shopping--along with the addition of death-related business matters. So when my son suggested planting some flowers in the empty beds outside, I discouraged him saying, "Watering them would just be one more thing to do. I don't have the time." Or the inclination I wanted to say. Planting and watering flowers seemed far outside my reality.

But my son ignored my wishes and bought plants. Purslane. A favorite of mine. He planted them, watered them and, before his visit ended, presented me with a watering can and then followed up with daily emails asking if I'd watered the plants that day.


It's been several weeks now and the plants are thriving...growing lush and healthy. When I open the blinds each morning, the pretty pink and yellow blooms bring a lift to my heart. The simple pleasure of looking at them throughout the day as I go in and out of the house gladdens my spirit. I'm surprised that I enjoy the morning task of watering them and, today, even found myself wondering what I'd replace them with in the fall or early winter.

I'm remembering, too, that I gave away my orchid plants on this last move. I'm looking at my bare outdoor porch and wondering now if I could place a few orchids there. Maybe this weekend--or sometime in the coming weeks--I might visit a local nursery and see what's in stock.

I'm also thinking it's the little things like watching a new plant take root, grow and bloom with a little care that will ease the transition into this new life of mine.