…the life of this particular plant became incredibly important and symbolic to me…I cannot let this plant, so linked with our loss, die.

I wrote those words back in March, in a post titled Black Thumb.

Since March:

This past weekend I re-potted the plant I wrote about into a larger container. The timing was a mix of purposeful and providential—I have known for weeks it needed to be done, but I finally found the motivation and deep desire to brave this daring-for-me undertaking. Having a black thumb means I need to read the directions on the big bag of Miracle Grow dirt each time I do something floral. For some reason the simple steps of “put Miracle Grow into container, place plant in container, water” are beyond my capabilities, so it was with a little too much nervousness and trembling that I began my project.

As I did my project, I felt myself slipping into what hubby refers to as my “dark place”…at least I kept this alive…I could have used some Miracle Grow…please, plant, don’t die because of this…I cut the roots like a good little gardener (the Miracle Grow bag told me to do it). I packed more dirt around the base of the stems. Is it too packed? Too loose? I watered. Too much? Too little?

I placed the plant back in its spot in the sunny kitchen. It seemed much larger and as I looked at it, turned it around and around on its base, felt the moist dirt, and stroked the leaves, I thought of the day when it would outgrow its new home. I hope it outgrows its new home. I hope it thrives.