Seed Skeletons

I have the brownest thumb. A disgrace to my family, really. I come from a long line of green thumbs, graced with the aptitude for azaleas and the sagacity of sunflowers. Sometimes I wonder if they’re rolling their graves witnessing the seed skeletons I’ve buried over the years. Soon, I’d have another family member to add to the list, along with another collection of plant bones, too. But in between futile flirtations with flora, I found a woman who helped ease my burden.

Her name was Tami. I always spelled it wrong. Her house smelled like she had at least five cats, but there was only one. What it lacked in cleanliness, it made up for in character. A well-worn piano leaned against the wall, a guitar lay opposite, and sheet music was scattered on the floor.

“I slept with two men from the Conch Republic for that!” she beamed, gesturing towards an azure handpan in the corner.

“Awesome” felt like the only appropriate response. The scent of coconut sunscreen and the camaraderie of the Florida Keys felt a million miles away. The humble instrument in the corner’s ability to bring levity to such a moment was nothing less than awe-inducing.

“I’m sorry about your Father.”

“Me too.”

“You know what I do when I don’t know what else to do?”

My silence urged her to respond.

“I plant.”

I snorted. “I don’t have the thumbs”, I said, motioning two thumbs down.

“Nonsense.”

Tami disappeared upstairs, returning several minutes later with a well-loved spray bottle and a sandwich bag full of seeds.

“When everything seems out of control, there is one thing that you can always rely on.” “If you dig a hole deep enough, plant a seed, and give it enough water and sunlight, you will see growth.”

She looked so hopeful.

“I have about as much a chance at keeping this plant alive at I have at keeping my Dad alive.”

“Well, you can’t control cancer, but you can count on nature to do what it does best.”

She opened grabbed a pair of scissors from the table beside the door and led me outside. A tabby cat followed with a catnip-filled rat stuffed in its mouth.

Before I could protest, her hands were already wrist deep in the dirt.

“Don’t just stand there, make yourself useful!”

I shuffled awkwardly, grabbing a few seeds from the bag.

“Plant ‘em a few inches deep, then cover ‘em with dirt. Gaia’s grave. Today’s seeds, tomorrow’s sunflowers.”

I wasn’t so sure, but followed her instructions anyway before wiping the dirt from my hands.

Tami got up from her knees, placing her hand on the front of her car for balance. It landed on a bumper sticker that said, “Honk if your other car’s a broom.” It was nestled next to another that read, “Buddha on board.” There had to have been at least two hundred stickers.

“Where’d you get all these, Tami?!”

“Here, there, you know…” I didn’t, but let it remain a mystery.

She retrieved the scissors from her pocket and grasped a fistful of wildflowers.

“We’ll bring these to your Dad’s”. “And for these, we’ll wait”, she said, motioning to the ground.

I sat by his bedside for months. The bright pinks and purples of the wildflowers faded and wilted before drying in their vase. I didn’t have the energy to change the water. I never was good at keeping anything alive anyway.

* * *

A little over three months passed since I had planted the seeds. The dried wildflowers sat by the bed, now vacant.

I hear a rhythmic knock at the door, like a melody waking me from a nightmare. I open my eyes to see Tami staring back at me.

“Enough here. He’s not here anymore.” “But you know where he is?”

She grabbed me by both wrists, dragging me out the door and across the street to her house. Her red sticker-plastered car sitting dutifully in the front lot as if unmoved.

Behind it peeked a trio of sunflowers.

***********

Author’s Note: this is based on the author’s real-life experience while caring for her Father during the last few months of his life. Tami is real, and sadly also passed shortly after. They both live on in her flowers. 🌻