One of my wife’s hopes for the year was to grow our own butterfly pea flowers. This vibrant blue flower is known for its beauty as well as its medicinal qualities, having a long history of usage in southeast Asian plant medicine.
We found two plants at a nursery in Houston in July, and after a brutally hot summer in Texas, they recently began to flower. This plant is a vine, and it’s slowly creeping up our trellis, blooming blue as it makes its way up.
Last week, I shared a video to my social media about how the plant reminds us to appreciate every stage of growth, because growth is not complete without each stage. We often focus our attention to a flower in full bloom, and overlook the time and energy the plant requires to blossom. When the flower wilts, we shift our attention elsewhere, as if the end of its process is less significant than the previous stages.
Reflecting on the plant’s wisdom led me to think about my experience this year. In April, I held my grandmother’s hand as she transitioned from this life, and in September, I caught my son as he entered this world from his mother’s womb.
There is no beginning without an ending, and no ending without a beginning. How often do we say that the end of something is an opportunity for something new to begin?
I’d hoped my grandmother would meet my son. We didn’t know his sex ahead of his birth, but Pearl claimed she did. She saw him in a dream.
“I know what it is!” She proudly shared in her southern drawl over the phone. “I saw him in my dream! It’s a boy, a Marcus Junior.”
She had no doubt she was right, and nearly five months after she passed, the son she foresaw came into my life. I wish she could have met him and seen me become a father, but flowers don’t bloom forever. When one wilts, the plant directs its energy into the buds that will become new blooms.
While I mourned, I was conscious of something: I couldn’t let the loss of one flower stop me from fostering the growth of another, and healthy growth begins with a healthy plant. If I got caught up in my grief, I could compromise the way I welcomed my son. I made sure to remember life is a cycle, and I was in the bittersweet position of working through a transition: The end of something, and beginning of something else.
I supported my grandmother through her departure, and I supported my son through his entrance. Death and life; the wilting and the budding.
I grieve my grandmother as I rejoice in my son.
And the vine of my life continues to grow.
For more reflections on the parallels between plants & personal growth, check out my book.
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Beautiful as usual. Love Pearl photo.