Almost two weeks ago my beloved Vet retired from the Bethel Animal Hospital. He will continue his healing acupuncture practice elsewhere part-time, but he will no longer be at the clinic. For regular acupuncture and all serious issues with my two dogs (one has been seriously ill for the last few years) he will work in conjunction with a new vet who I have yet to meet.
He has assured me that I will like Shelby, the woman he has chosen for us. I do trust his judgement.
I desperately wanted Gary to retire for health reasons last fall and spoke to him about it. We have been very close friends for many years, and it had become obvious to me that it was time. His wife felt the same way. He made the final decision to retire in November. My personal sense of loss was hidden under the shadow of my deep concern for him.
As the specter of retirement drew near Gary reassured me that he had already blocked out regular times to visit us every other week.
Yesterday we spent our first afternoon together since his retirement. We discussed growing the passionflowers that I had just potted for him, while he did acupuncture and played with both dogs. Grounding.
This new way of relating still carries a poignancy for me that I once underestimated.
Amazingly, one little plant demonstrated how serious this loss was for the child who loves him. At the same time the sedum led me through the changes that were coming and what had to be done. What follows is that story:
Last fall when I broke my hip Gary brought me a beautiful healthy sedum. Almost immediately my plant lost precious leaves and by the time I left the nursing home the plant was half dead. I was heartbroken. That little sedum had helped keep me alive.
Once home the sedum rapidly recovered and began to thrive in my south window. Every day I told my sedum I loved her. I had learned from plants as a child that these beings not only had feelings but also responded to me in unusual ways. For example, sometimes orchid roots would light up, or pulse in my hands when I repotted them. Passionflowers died when I gave them to people who betrayed me. It probably goes without saying that I have always talked to plants.
In January two months before Gary was due to retire, my beloved sedum was floundering for a second time. When the plant lost more and more succulent leaves, I became somewhat frantic. No! Not again.
Three weeks later after carefully inspecting the plant for the millionth time I was forced to face the fact that it looked like the roots of the sedum were rotting. My only hope was to cut the tops away and repot them as separate cuttings. When I began this process, I was stunned to discover that the entire root system wasn’t just shriveling – it was quite dead. I had not overwatered the plant. How had the tops survived?
Every morning during the month of February I peered under clear plastic into two pots (one held one cutting, the second held the rest) desperately hoping to see signs of new growth.
Nothing.
My worst fear surfaced. Was this plant telling me that Gary and I were losing our friendship?
Gary retired on March 1st ending his last thirteen – hour day by coming to pick up my dogs for x rays, taking them to the clinic, and then returning them home to me.
Acting out his Devotion.
We had talked so often of what this coming retirement would mean for us even as Gary reassured me repeatedly that all would be well, even though the situation was changing.
It wasn’t enough. What precipitated this shocking loss of roots? Plants like dreams always teach me what I don’t know, I mused in misery.
I shared my fears with Gary. He repeated that he would never leave us, and he returned my root worry to me. Not his roots but mine were in trouble he said!
Until this conversation I couldn’t feel that it was my old roots had to be cut away to make room for the new because Gary had given me the plant and the boundary between the two seemed blurred.
On the morning of March 7th, six days after Gary’s retirement I peered at the two pots in disbelief. Tiny fat succulent leaves were appearing at last on the single cutting, and in the other pot the tips of the clusters also revealed new growth.
Sturdy roots are the ground of all healthy plants and trustworthy relationships, I thought happily.
My relief was visceral. I was cultivating a new way of being with sedums and with Gary. The fact that all the cuttings had rooted suggested unknown possibilities might be ahead.
It’s hardly surprising that during this last week and a half, I had also potted up his first passionflower. Gary loves plants but has spent so many years tending to animals that he hasn’t had the chance to grow as many as he would like although he has somehow managed to keep beautiful gardens. Now he has a little greenhouse too.
When I began to root the passionflower cuttings for him last November it was only with a diffused awareness. I was rooting plants for his retirement.
This root ending has become a series of new beginnings.
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I sooner finish this article and send it to Gary when a male turkey begins to display for me just in front of my very dirty dog – nosed passionflower window. Animals like plants know when you love them.