My mom came in with a plant.
“What is this?” I asked, certain that unless it barked or meowed, it was dead on sight in my care.
“A Cyclamen plant. I thought you could take care of it.”
“Okay,” I said and there you have it — I was a plant owner.
A few days before, I had a D&C for a miscarriage. At ten weeks along, the OBGYN and ultrasound tech discovered my first pregnancy was no more. So as I wore some mega-big maxi-pad, I found a place for my plant, and then went back to lying down on the couch with my crampy uterus to watch some seriously nostalgic television.Little House on the Prairie was one of the shows I watched on repeat, enduring the tragic pregnancies the show had one by one, in tears. I was in a funk. The kind of funk that has you eating privately, ignoring your friend’s phone calls, and not returning to work.
The flowers on the plant bloomed white shortly thereafter and my friend, an absolute genius when it comes to anything that’s green or crawls on four legs or a million who I have known since childhood, Jason, told me how to care for the plant.
Read More: The Gift I Received For My Miscarriage
I Am in Bloom,