When the Paperwhites bloom, I'll be here
We delayed by a week traveling from Kitwanga to Bellingham for my doctor’s appointment. I wanted to get my tomato and zucchini plants in the ground before leaving, and we were still experiencing freezing temperatures late into May. The day before we left I smoothed the soil around the last tender transplant. I moved slowly this spring… not like myself at all. Just scattering a row of seeds left me short of breath. It was why we were going to Bellingham. But I wanted the garden finished so that when we returned the snow peas would be climbing the trellis, the nasturtium in bloom, and the heirloom lettuce ready for salads. And this was the second year for my raspberry canes… their fruit would be ready by the time we got back. There was no way I could have known then that I would not be coming back.
It has been five months since I received my diagnosis of stage four lung cancer… five months since I was told that without treatment I had six months to live. My emotions have run the gamut from disbelief to discouragement to fatalism, and finally to realistic optimism and acceptance. At first my life seemed to be taken over by doctors, chemicals, drugs, procedures like biopsies, CT scans and Pet scans… and perhaps last visits with friends and family. The future didn’t exist. There was only now. It is hard to plant a seed or a flower bulb if you do not believe you will be around to see it bloom. But it is that very act of planting that represents Hope.
Monday we visited a favorite nursery of ours, from when we lived on San Juan Island. We looked only at the houseplants and conservatory plants for we have no yard. I wandered through the rows of greenery, inhaling the rich aroma of moist soil, and terra cotta pots. Before long Bob was carrying to the checkout counter pots of scented geraniums, a maidenhair fern, bay laurel topiary, and a pre-planted pot of Paperwhite Narcissus bulbs. The next day I puttered at the kitchen sink with a bag of soil, and new pots, replanting the scented geraniums. I spent time trimming and watering houseplants. Bob only chuckled at the mess I was making. I think he knows that taking care of plants is taking care of me. The pot of narcissus bulbs sits near a south facing window, the green tips an inch high. I have no doubt that I will still be here when their sweet scented blooms brighten a winter day.
... PLM
It has been five months since I received my diagnosis of stage four lung cancer… five months since I was told that without treatment I had six months to live. My emotions have run the gamut from disbelief to discouragement to fatalism, and finally to realistic optimism and acceptance. At first my life seemed to be taken over by doctors, chemicals, drugs, procedures like biopsies, CT scans and Pet scans… and perhaps last visits with friends and family. The future didn’t exist. There was only now. It is hard to plant a seed or a flower bulb if you do not believe you will be around to see it bloom. But it is that very act of planting that represents Hope.
Monday we visited a favorite nursery of ours, from when we lived on San Juan Island. We looked only at the houseplants and conservatory plants for we have no yard. I wandered through the rows of greenery, inhaling the rich aroma of moist soil, and terra cotta pots. Before long Bob was carrying to the checkout counter pots of scented geraniums, a maidenhair fern, bay laurel topiary, and a pre-planted pot of Paperwhite Narcissus bulbs. The next day I puttered at the kitchen sink with a bag of soil, and new pots, replanting the scented geraniums. I spent time trimming and watering houseplants. Bob only chuckled at the mess I was making. I think he knows that taking care of plants is taking care of me. The pot of narcissus bulbs sits near a south facing window, the green tips an inch high. I have no doubt that I will still be here when their sweet scented blooms brighten a winter day.
... PLM
posted by Looking for Hope | 9:02 PM
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