A Healing Salve

I started buying plants as somewhat of a salve over a wound, something else to focus on caring for other than myself. I learned quickly that I could not keep herbs alive. No matter how much water or attentive care I gave them, they would wither and die rather quickly. I thought, “This is how dark my energy has become, and the plants can feel it.” But there is some wizardry to the art of growing things as delicate as basil and mint leaves.

I moved onto vegetation I believed would be more my speed. First, I grew an assortment of flowers, such as marigolds, roses, and peonies. I even managed to have a few beautiful batches of sunflowers bloom one summer. However, my real joy for gardening came when my then husband brought home this huge bucket of aloe vera. Another married friend of his had gifted it to him when he went by his house one night to vent about the complexities of our lives. As he walked through our door he announced, “Now if you ever leave me, this one is staying. This plant is mine.” I smirked and asked, “Are you going to be the one taking care of it?”

I knew he would not be.

As we moved deeper into our marriage, my garden grew. It improved more than I ever could have imagined when I was destroying the frangible herbs. Now I had a variety of succulents, cacti, vines, and tropical trees. They were all thriving, especially the aloe plant, that I had multiplied by the 100s. They overflowed into pots that ranged from being quite tiny to exceptionally large. Next to my children, and my cats, these plants became more than an accomplishment. They were an extension of myself, my dedication, my energy. When I needed an escape from the shouting, or the assassination of my own character, I would hide in the greenery. The sanctuary I created was a reminder that pieces of us can die, and yet we can find the strength to go on living. Growing plants became an art of learning survival.

When I decided I could not take another day with this man, I left, as I had many times before. This time, I waited for him to leave for work, and I began to gather the objects that held the most meaning. I realized in doing this that few things I had collected over the years held value. My collection of over 500 movies was something I spent my life creating, but he claimed it as his own and took each one. I had to remind myself constantly, “These are material objects. They are completely replaceable. The children and I are not.” Nevertheless, I mourn my movie collection to this day. I knew the same would happen with my plants, so I strategically waited until the last moment to transfer them. When I did, I took every off set of the aloe vera, feeling that these pups rightfully belonged to me. Per his request, the only plant left on our back porch in my departure, was their mother. His original aloe.

He was extremely angry and called me in a fit of rage, “How dare you take what is mine Karina! Those were my plants, and you had no right!” To which I coolly replied, “Were you going to take care of them?” and he swiftly hung up in my face. Over the next several weeks he began to bring over anything he did not see value in. “I never wanted this anyway!” “Here are all of your ridiculous mason jars!” “You need to come and pick up these damn cats, immediately!” I told him I did not have a crate to transfer my fur babies but that I would find a solution expeditiously.

That was not fast enough.

At this point I must have been gone for a month or more. He recanted the statement about the cats once, stating that he wanted them there to keep him company, but he soon started dating a woman who I am sure preferred dogs. Suddenly, my cats were vermin that carried diseases and fleas. He announced that he would be bringing the cats over by the end of the day, and I waited anxiously to see my surrogate children. Upon arrival, he pulled a huge plastic tub out of his front seat, with no holes. I remember my mother screaming, “Karina! He is killing them! They are suffocating!” She ripped the top off with the force of an overprotective lioness, and as the cats panted and breathed fresh air, began scolding my soon to be ex-husband.

Their argument was completely inaudible. I stood frozen, eyes glazed over in a daze, staring at the filthy truck bed of the vehicle my family had bought him 5 years back. There was the mother plant of all my aloe pups, dead as a door nail. Wilted over into a pile of greenish-brown mush. He had, in fact, not taken care of it for a single day since my leaving. I wanted to cry for it, but in a way, I felt victory. I felt relief, thinking, “That’s how he takes care of everything.” and, “My goodness, I’m finally free.”