She loved plants. She had several in her cubicle. One of her final wishes was that her plants be divided among any coworkers who wanted them. As I was fairly close to her, I decided to take one on. My husband joked that once I killed the plant it would be like my coworker dying all over again. I laughed, but I groaned internally. He was right. I am all thumbs when it comes to gardening, and none of them are green. I was hoping that as Sue had given this plant a head start, I could just take over and water it periodically and it would continue to thrive without much effort on my part.
The key words in the previous sentence were water it periodically.
I had not given my adopted pant much thought all week until I turned around today in my cubicle and was shocked to realize that my plant looked sad. There really is no other way to describe it. I tried to remember how long it had been since I last watered it, counting the days in my head: 1….2….3…..4…. And I realized I could not remember. It had to be sometime last week.
I hurried to the sink, filled a glass, and drenched it.
I’d like to say it looks a bit happier already, but it would be nothing more than wishful thinking.
Well, it’s not dead yet.