Seeds of hope
I have never been much of a gardener. I have just a few houseplants, most of which are 15 years old and very forgiving of neglect, which is why they’re still around. Others have come and gone, but they did not survive me. I have never been one for finding joy digging in the dirt that some do, and it is not my way to plant things, because I am aware of, and okay with, my horticultural limitations.
But I planted some seeds the other day, in two planters in front of my house. I had had the thought awhile back, and finally ordered 100 California golden poppy seeds from eBay. I scattered 50 seeds in each planter, and have watered them faithfully every day. Each day I check the planters for signs of sprouting seeds. This memorial garden is too important to me to fail. I have to think the Universe will help me have those poppies. I could’ve put anything in those planters; California poppies are symbols of him, and of me. I have a dear friend, and we call each other “Poppy.” No sightings yet, but I am hopeful.
And I realized today that that was a miracle, my being hopeful. It surprised me. I’ve had okay days, and even some good ones, but I have to say that I really hadn’t thought about hope, or thought I was capable of it any longer. Because hope is akin to expectation, and expectation that anything will turn out the way you want it to is the first thing to die when someone you love dies. You stop taking anything for granted, even that seeds that are planted and tended will sprout and grow.
I hadn’t really thought about it that way; I just wanted poppies as beautiful living reminders of A. But I guess it’s indicative of how far I’ve come in the last 9 months that the thought even crossed my mind. Last July, I wanted to be dead, too. I had no hope. I had nothing but pain and despair. And now, I am fostering new life with hope in my heart that despite my black thumb, they will in fact grow.
As I said, it was no accident that I chose California poppy seeds, but as I think about them, they are even more significant than I thought. For there are few seeds smaller than poppy seeds. If I’d sneezed, I would’ve lost all 100 of them, as they would blow away with the slightest breeze. And here I am, planting tiny, delicate, none-too-heavy seeds, believing that with some tending, they will flower into something beautiful.
It’s not everything. But it’s something.