Strange?

Hanging on my screened porch is an Easter cactus I inherited from my mother-in-law after she died of colon cancer in 1986. No, that isn’t a typo. I really did say 1986! Over the past 22 years I’ve hauled it from Greenville, NC, to Lynchburg and Evington, VA, and finally to Smith Mountain Lake. I thought about tossing it out a few times, but couldn’t do it. Don't know why. Never a handsome plant, over the years I continued to water Cactus occasionally when I thought about it. I re-potted it once even though it never seemed to grow. A few weeks ago I carried Cactus to the porch and actually dusted it, removed some dead twigs, and hung it on a hook. And promptly forgot about it.

Two days before Mother’s Day I happened to glance at Cactus while putting the dogs outside. Shocked at what I saw, I stopped so suddenly that Angus and Yellow Dog rammed into my legs. I couldn’t believe it. There, on the tip of a cactus branch, was a tight pink bud! I ran to tell my husband.

On Mother’s Day one perfect, deep-pink blossom on the end of a stem dazzled us. Today there are two blossoms; more buds promise additional bursts of blazing color.

Strange. This plant had never once bloomed since 1986. That's 22 years! I don’t know how long my mother-in-law had tended to Cactus before I inherited it, so I don’t know the actual age of the plant.

My mother-in-law and I didn’t always agree, but I loved her. Since seeing the first blossom on Cactus, I’ve thought of ways I could have been a better daughter-in-law, wish I could make amends. Memories of the good times with her have brought both smiles and tears.

Harriet Newman grew up in Oakland, California, and when it was time for her to go to college, she commuted eight and a half miles one way via ferry (the Golden Gate Bridge didn’t open until 1936) from Oakland to San Francisco. To get from the ferry to San Francisco State Teachers College, she rode the cable car and/or trolley for another hour. She made the nearly two-hour commute twice a day for four years. She graduated, married--and never worked outside the home.

The oldest of five, Harriet was a talented artist. Her three sons inherited some of her talent. Even though she adored her boys, I wish she’d had at least one daughter. Harriet would have loved teaching her how to crochet, make rhubarb / strawberry jam, straight-from-Sweden meatballs, congealed salads, the best-ever pound cakes, casseroles, from-scratch bread. Her daughter would have learned how to clean, to cook, to know that you never put rolls on the bottom shelf in the oven or they’d have black bottoms, how to make beds properly, and how important it was to dust the tops of door frames (even if you were too short to see the tops). She gave lots of energy and time to good causes, helped her friends whenever needed, enjoyed showing off her grandchildren to her friends. And she gave birth to the man I married, a man I cannot imagine living without. Thank you, Harriet.

And thank you, Cactus, for reminding me of what my mother-in-law has passed on to me: my wonderful husband, three incredible children, 12 nearly perfect grandchildren. And lots of memories. I love you, Harriet. And I'll never forget you.