I don’t pretend to be in love with gardening. I’m not the lovely maiden with daisies in my hair, lovingly tending to my flowers while birds sing softly from my shoulder and butterflies dance. I like plants, enjoy flowers, and get excited over a great salad, but a gardener I am not. I have one plant in my home. One, lonely, sad looking philodendron, that means the world to me.
Since I am not a plant person, one might wonder about my obsessive fascination with my “Little Phil.” I brought him home 10 years ago from my Grandfather’s funeral. My Grandfather was the greatest. He was the unconditional, loving voice in my head and heart at all times. He could do no wrong in my eyes, despite the stories of him being quite a cad in his younger days. When I would walk into his home I would hear, “there’s my Messy!” Yes, he called me “Messy.” I never remember him calling me anything else, even on my wedding day. Apparently there had been an unfortunate cake frosting incident as a toddler that earned me this nickname and I wore it proudly! I still miss hearing those words. When I lost my Grandfather, I felt like a crazy helium balloon that had broken away from the anchor keeping it from floating off into space. He was the one thing that kept me from questioning who I was. I had lost my direction and was now floundering through life trying to find myself. I’ve been heartbroken since.
What I notice about Phil over time was, he seemed to be responding to changes in my life. Within three years of bringing him home, my marriage was a wreck and I was going through a divorce. I had three children all under the age of five. I had a full time career that was growing at back breaking speed. I was depressed and exhausted and there were days I just couldn’t keep my chin up. Phil was dying off quickly. Leaves were wilting and turning yellow. He always seemed to be laying limp in his pot, without the strength to hold his leaves up. The more upset I got, the more leaves died away. Then suddenly, about two months after my divorce was final, the kids were doing well in their new schools, and I was working out of the same city I was living in (no commute) Phil started coming back. I just noticed one afternoon that he looked rich and green. His leaves were bold and new leaves were coming on. I saw it as a sign that life was turning around for me and I had weathered the storm.
 |
| "Little Phil" |
But, it turned out to just be the eye of the storm. Or rather, life showed me that you can never get too comfortable. Last year I lost my job, struggled to find a new one, and prayed day to day to make it through the next storm without losing everything. Life was stressful. I was depressed and exhausted with worry. Phil responded and before I realized what was happening, he was down to three leaves.
I was working a job to make ends-meet, for a woman whose religious affiliation was Eckankar. She seemed highly in tune with nature. Almost to the extent that I can picture butterflies circling as she hums and works in her garden. I told her about Phil and she gave me words of wisdom. I tried it all. I’ve put him into a smaller pot. I’ve set him on the stereo speaker so he could feel the jazz playing. I’ve massaged his leaves and told him how important he is to me. I have felt like a fool talking to Phil, all the while praying not to loose him. In reality praying not to lose the last connection I have to Grandpa.
Exactly one year after losing my job, I found another one. A better one! Prayers were answered and I am feeling peace and calmness embrace my family. I am also experiencing the joy and excitement of a new career that I really love. All should be right with the world. But Phil isn’t responding. He is down to two leaves. What if I can’t save him? I don’t think I really know how to let him go. At this point I don’t even know if I am talking about Phil or Grandpa, but I do know I’m not ready.
What can I do to save Phil?
