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Moving into our new place, we received many housewarming gifts. While most of the presents were material things to be used around the house, one family friend decided to bring over a beautiful potted plant. Plants have always been a matter of taboo in my family. My mother, being very superstitious, feels the presence of plants brings some sort of disaster to the family, so we avoid them. This time, we gave away the other plants and kept the philodendron that I really admired. To me, it was Cecilia.
The philodendron plant grows vines that can stretch long, and is quite easy to maintain. They can thrive indoors if they are watered somewhat regularly. I felt the plant brought a very serene presence to the house and it tied the place together. With the newly painted egg-shell white walls, and the creme-coloured sofa set and curtains, the house really needed the pop of colour that the plant offered. The vines growing and spreading the beautiful lime green colour really added life to the structure of the room. It was a hint of something different and alive that brought the room a sense of home and peace.
I was in the kitchen, adjusting the water level in the philodendron pot when my mother walked in.
“You’re still keeping the plant?” she asked, her tone clipped.
“I think it looks nice,” I replied, softly as to not anger her, “It brightens up the house.”
“You know what I think about plants in the house,” she said, staring at the plant and slightly shaking her head, as though keeping it has disappointed her.
“I know, but this one… it’s so full of life. I can’t bring myself to throw it out or give it away. It’s just a plant, Mom. It can’t hurt us.”
She was quiet for a moment before taking a deep breath in. Defeated, she quietly muttered an “I hope so,” before leaving the kitchen.
After tending to Cecilia, naturally, I felt attached to this beautiful plant. Regardless of the consequences my mother thinks it may have, I decided I would put my foot down if she wanted to give it away. Although it does not require any effort to keep Cecilia alive and happy, I still tried my best to treat the vines with delicacy so as to not damage them. I would regularly water the plant, but before doing so I would touch the black soil. The texture of the soil, slightly rough and wool-like, made me think about how wonderful it is that this soil could help grow leaves so soft, luscious, and so very brightly green. I poured water into the pot and it absorbed the water instantly.
Fortunately, Cecilia grew healthy and steadily, and with it so did my hopes that my mother would decide to keep her. I hoped the day she decided to give it away would not come.
That day came very soon. When mother decided to give Cecilia away to her friend, I fought against the idea and expressed how much I love the plant. Mother quietly sipped her tea and let the matter rest for a few days. We later had a very serious talk which ended with her telling me that the plant is my responsibility. She wants nothing to do with it and if anything is brought on by Cecilia’s presence, she will hold me responsible. Not believing in the superstitious tradition, I agreed.
Three years passed and every day my beautiful lemon-lime philodendron grew. The vines rose on the walls of the kitchen, where Cecilia is placed on a corner table, and ran quite far around. The leaves nearly reached the dining area outside the kitchen. Seeing the beautiful thriving plant made me happy every day, and it found a place in my mother’s heart too… albeit she would not admit it. That spring, my uncle suddenly died of a heart attack, and we were all drowned in sorrow.
After my uncle’s sudden passing, the house was thick with grief. Hope was lost in the family and everyone found a reason to blame one another for his heart condition and the sudden heart attack. For my mother, among many other things, the existence of the philodendron became one major reason. It was a week after the shocking news that my mother came to me in the kitchen, as I was preparing some tea, and looked at Cecilia for a very long time. She simply told me if it was not for my selfish desires to keep a plant, she would still have her brother.
This pattern repeated itself over the next few months. This particular time, I found myself alone in the kitchen, lost in thought when my mother approached again, this time with tears in her eyes.
“Maybe if you hadn’t been so stubborn about that plant…” she whispered, almost too quietly to hear.
I froze, my stomach twisting. “Mom, you don’t really think that. Come on.”
She shook her head, her voice cracking. “I don’t know what to think anymore. I lost him, and… it’s like the plant brought everything bad with it.”
I tried to keep my composure, even though I felt my heart sink. “Mom, that’s not fair. Plants can’t cause incidents like these. You are a woman of faith. You know it’s impossible what you are saying.”
For a moment, we stood in silence, before she whispered, “I just wish I could make sense of it all. I wish you had not selfishly brought that thing into my house.”
I knew she did not mean it and she did not actually blame me for the tragic event, but I couldn’t help but let a part of me think perhaps keeping Cecilia cost us the sacrifice of my uncle’s life. I felt responsible in some odd way, but I found the only way to cope with being seen as partly responsible for my uncle’s death was to just accept it. One life had left our house and would not be returned. However, that could not possibly mean I had to lose a second life by giving away or destroying Cecilia that was now a part of our home.
The loss of my young uncle was an unexpected one. We did not sleep for days because of the deep sorrow we felt. To me, he was not just an uncle, but a father figure I had looked up to and admired all my life. There was so much I had wanted to do for him, to make him proud, that I did not have a chance to do.
After days of thinking, I came to realize my uncle would never want us to give away an innocent plant or to throw it out as he was a practical man; a scientist who loved life. He did not believe in such superstitions. He found life in plants and grew many different types of plants in his garden. He would not have wanted me to get rid of a beautiful living thing or resent it because of an unfortunate event that had happened nearly three years after the housewarming gift came into our house. To my surprise, my mother came to terms with me keeping the plant yet again, but she did not let me forget the part Cecilia may have played in her losing her dear brother.
A year later, we planned to take a vacation for a month. Cecilia’s vines and leaves had grown even longer, reaching the living room. A day before our flight, mother decided it was time to rearrange the placement of the plant to decorate the living room area better with its beautiful lime colours. At the very last stage of redesigning the top lines of the living room wall near the ceiling, mother decided to move Cecilia to readjust its position.
“Careful, I think it might break,” I warned my mother. But it was too late. She accidentally snapped the stem. Almost all the vines around the house were disconnected from the plant itself.
Mother looked at me and back to the plant, and she stammered but was at a loss for words. Her eyes went wide with horror. “Oh no, I didn’t mean to!”
It was not intentional, and I understood that. I could see the sadness in her expression as her trembling hands tried to reconnect the vine stem, unsuccessfully. Hot tears rushed to my eyes and I swallowed them.
I rushed over to her, trying to calm her down. “It’s okay. It was an accident. It’ll be alright.” I said in a shaky voice.
She shook her head, her voice trembling. “Oh my God, what did it do….I am so sorry.”
I could finally see that my mother did not hate Cecilia, nor did she blame me for my uncle’s tragic death. Seeing the panic in her eyes and the sadness she had for having ruined something I loved so much, I could not help but forgive her and tell her it was alright.
“Mom, it’s just a plant,” I said, my voice soft but firm. “It can still live. We’ll fix it.”
“I can’t…” she whispered, almost as if she were speaking to herself, “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“You didn’t hurt me. We’ll figure it out.”
I researched ways to fix the plant, but they all required at least a week of consistent tending before it could reconnect. With our flight being the next evening, that was impossible. She apologized many times and I could finally convince her that maybe this was the life set for this plant. It is possible our effort to reconnect the stem will be successful even if we do not tend to it in the coming days. If the plant lives, it means a fresh start, and that we should be accepting of it as it is meant to be in our lives. If the plant were to die, then it has taken its journey; what was meant to be has happened despite our efforts. Mother, being helpless and not knowing any other way, agreed with me and we left for our trip somewhat defeated.
When we returned a month later, we expected my gorgeous lemon lime philodendron to be dead, and its vines to be a brownish colour hung all around the house. I opened the door and was shocked. Cecilia was alive. The leaves were wonderfully green.
“She is alive,” I said in disbelief.
My mother was overjoyed. She cupped my face in her hands and kissed my cheeks.
I could see the hint of moisture in her eyes as she said “You have no idea how glad I am that Cece is alive.”
I laughed, relieved. The tight feeling of anxiety left my stomach for the first time at the sight of seeing my mother and Cecilia in one room together. The plant’s life had given her more happiness than I had seen in her the whole trip. She no longer blames Cecilia or me for anything in the past. I had so many emotions, “gratitude” came to mind.
Recently my mother and I went for a walk and she stopped by a flower shop. She purchased two potted plants, one for each of our rooms.
Surprised, with a chuckle, I asked “I thought you hated plants.”
“Things change,” she said quietly, with a small smile and a wink.
Cecilia is to this day one of the most meaningful things to me in my house. I feel it is what makes our house a beautiful home.
