Dead Plants

It had been a bitter break-up that neither of us really wanted.  Michael remains to this day one of the most delightful, talented and engaging people I have ever met.  But like so many extraordinarily talented souls, he was a self-medicating manic depressive.  In other words, a drug addict.  The constant fighting over my wish for him to seek a different route for living basically, was just more than either of us could bare.  We reluctantly, meticulously planned the move-out from our big old colonial home in Historic Oakwood.  Michael would move out all of his things first.  Then after two o’clock, I would come and retrieve my things.

Ours had been a life full of fighting, laughter, rambunctious dogs, happy fish, a well appointed creaking old home and a multitude of luscious green plants.  When I arrived most of my things were carefully tossed into boxes or in piles throughout the house.  Michael had taken the fish.  And the dogs.  Big sigh.  And he took all the plants except for five.  He left me five plants.  Five nearly dead plants. In that moment I stood there and the fight boiled up in me like potatoes at Thanksgiving.  In that moment I determined that darn it – those plants were gonna live…  and I was gonna live!

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