African Violets, Ladybugs, and All

Following my mom’s death almost 10 years ago, an acquaintance called me with an offering. You see, several years before she died, this man’s wife was battling cancer. Although his wife eventually succumbed to the struggle, her African Violet house plant survived. That plant, the man said, was given to his wife by my mom years earlier amidst his wife’s worry and despair. He talked about how touched they had been by my mom’s outreach. And now, the man said, was a full-circle moment. He re-gifted the plant to me, and it was like a soothing balm on my broken heart. In the early days of my grief, the plant brought comfort; and yes, hope in the fact that my mom’s remarkable spirit lived on. 

For almost 10 years, that plant rested in the soft sunny glow of my kitchen window. It flourished and flowered. Those rich purple blooms that rose from the velvety green leaves reached proudly and stood strongly amidst the spectrum of my days. 10 years is a long time for a plant like this to thrive. Now, mind you, I do not have a green thumb, and the few flowering plants I’ve nurtured (or tried to) over the years never grew; until this plant. Each morning as I washed the breakfast dishes or gazed out my kitchen window to greet the world beyond, I felt the presence of my mom. You know how it is when someone you love so much is gone. It’s easy to attach their spirit to a bird, a song, a rainbow, or in my case, an African Violet. Once a week it was watered, and every day it made me smile.

And then the plant began to struggle. I re-potted and infused special plant food to no avail. The barren and tired leaves turned more and more brown. All the while, I mourned the surety of my mom’s presence. All good thing must come to an end, right? But I hated the fact that her plant was dying. It was kind of another goodbye, and it made me sad. One afternoon, I took the plant outside and nestled it in the brush in the very back corner of my yard. It was kind of a burial and goodbye to a source of joy connecting me with my mom; and to her friend from years past. I felt a void.

A few weeks later, my husband and I anticipated a visit of our new grandson. Archie, then 8 weeks old, was coming to our house for the first time. As we waited for my daughter’s car to pull in the driveway, I noticed a ladybug resting on my kitchen counter. I think I actually greeted the speckled beetle out loud in delight. You could easily dismiss the uniquely spotted little creature as a very random, mid-winter occurrence detected inside my house; but I saw it different. You see, not only do African Violets make me think lovingly of my mom, so do ladybugs. I think she showed up to welcome little Archie. Yes, that’s right. My mom is apparently everywhere. 

I share the story of the African Violet and the ladybug because I know many of you find inspiration in the small and sweet presences that can propel us forward. Skeptics might think attaching people with things or bugs might defy reason, and maybe they’re right. But for me, there’s no harm in noting the tangible ways whereby defiant love shows up. For 10 years, it was an African Violet, the other week it was a ladybug, and tomorrow it might be something else quite splendid. The good news is that love is infinite and can be manifested in the most serendipitous ways. I’m happy to share the connecting joy of a ladybug with any of you. Nothing would make my mom happier.