by Leann Zotis

Created on: May 31, 2008   Last Updated: February 14, 2010

Each time I look at my garden or something in my home that I have planted and I can see it flourishing, I am reminded of a time when life was not so kind to me. It was a time when I was standing by helplessly while the two people I cared about most in this world, my husband and my mother, simultaneously suffered and ultimately died from unspeakably ugly diseases. For my husband, it was a seldom curable form of leukemia. For over a year he struggled, he fought back, he lost ground, he found back again, he faltered, and in due course, he died. Even with all the strength and will to live that a 38 year old man in otherwise good health could muster, he was unable to beat back this formidable enemy. His death, though hardly unexpected, was unbelievably difficult to comprehend.

As if this horror wasn't enough, my mother was fighting her own battle against the ravages of time and illness. She succumbed to the bitter defeat of emphysema only months after the death of my husband.  The best description of this death would be to compare it to watching someone suffocate while standing by helplessly.

Two good and honorable people left this earth, and my life, forever, at a time when I was not sure how to face the future and find a reason that justified my own continuation of life's journey.

Just weeks after these two devastating deaths I attended a church breakfast during the Christian holy week leading up to Easter. I was not feeling particularly religious or faithful. I'm not sure I was really on very good terms with God at all at that time. But I was seeking. Not knowing where else to go, I was finding myself in church often enough in those shattered weeks.

On this particular Sunday morning, the church was celebrating the Easter season with an ecumenical breakfast that included clergy and parishioners from several of the local churches in the community. I found myself seated at the table with two Sisters of Mercy from the local Catholic Church. Being kindly and gregarious ladies, they entered into conversation with me and asked me details of my life. Before long I found myself pouring out my heart to these dear ladies as I told of the tragic deaths of my loved ones.

They listened, spoke occasionally, listened more, and offered to pray with me. After the prayer, one sister said to me, "I want you to go home and plant something in your garden. I want you to plant a seed and watch it grow. I want you to plant a bush and watch it blossom. If you do this, you will better understand the cycle of life."

I was touched and bewildered at the same time. Surely my losses were much more significant than a rose bush or a marigold plant. But, having no better solutions of my own, I did as she suggested. I went home, I started that garden and I watched life being reborn that spring.

Somewhere, somehow, I did find the deeper understanding the Sisters of Mercy spoke of that day. I saw that seed struggle to break out from the dirt that held it down. I saw tender, young, spindly plants stand up and face the sunlight and grow stronger. I saw buds form, open in the sun, live a few glorious days, wither and die, only to have new buds take their place.

I saw and I knew. I came to a deeper understanding in my heart and mind. I still knew the pain of my losses but I also found a certain level of consolation. My loved ones, like myself and every other living thing on this planet were part of that larger cycle of birth, life, death of the current generation, and moving forward into the next.

I am never without a garden in my life now. It may be indoors in the winter, outdoors when summer sun brings life. But always I am reminded of that life cycle and my small part in the overall scheme of things.

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