Kindness and Grief

     Shortly after my mother died, a friend gave me wishbone flowers also known as bluewings to plant. She did not know that my mother absolutely loved flowers, orchids in particular. So, it was serendipitous as it was very kind. Planting flowers in our back garden became my anchor as I dealt with her loss. Being with them in the early hours of the morning with my first cup of coffee felt like being with her. Later in the morning I would pull out the weeds that grew around it. Touching earth was like holding her hand again. And as the sun poured over my back it was like her entire presence holding me steady. 

     After a couple of years, I had to uproot all the flowers I planted including the blue wings that my friend gave me because of a severe case of rhinitis that inflamed my left ear and affected my hearing. The pollen from the flowers exacerbated my condition. It was another kind of loss, yet again. Needless to say, I had to do it. Otherwise, my health would continue to suffer.  Since then, I didn't plant any more flowers and merely appreciated them from afar. 

     This year, at around August, the month of my mother's passing, in one of our planters in the front yard, the flowers began sprouting and blossomed in numbers. Apparently overtime, even as I uprooted them a few years ago, carried perhaps by wind and movement, their pollen landed on another patch of earth, this time in our front yard. What's even more amazing is how they sprouted in three different color variations. 

     Every morning now as I step out into the cool morning air with my cup of black, these wishbone flowers in their color varieties greet me in their vibrancy and numbers. In the quiet of the early hours, I marvel at how a simple act of kindness indeed never disappears. While everything is temporary-- life, friendships, experiences, typhoons and all that is tangible,   kindness, on the other hand extend far beyond the timeline upon which it was generously given. In a very literal sense, even as I uprooted the wishbone flowers three years ago, traces of their life remained and chose to germinate and grow again this year, and auspiciously, beginning in the month of my mother's death. Traces of kindness that become indelible reminders in my heart remain, grow and germinate again when I need it the most.  And when I think about how my mother loved flowers particularly orchids, how beautiful of a coincidence it is that some species of orchids take a similar shape to these wishbone flowers. 

     Today, I chose to write this in my blog instead of the usual Instagram post feeling this message of how this act of kindness has permeated and persisted in my life warrants a platform that offers a more mindful choice to take my time to sit and write. Ever since my mother died, my perspective on life in general has been enfolded in the mantle of grief. Kindness, I've discovered, in whatever form is its faithful partner. So here I am writing again. And here it is for you to read. Kindness, its persistence in grief. I hope this reflection nourishes you in whatever way.

May you be well and safe. Always. 

Namaste.