Blooming Where I'm Planted

On November 4th, Ophelia (the orchid) saddled up and was my co-pilot for the cross-country move from the rocky beaches of Washington to the Rocky Mountains of Colorado.

She had no blooms in November but all kinds of new growth that indicated she’d erupt with colorful life in January.

At the time, I planned to do the same. I proclaimed that my word for 2020 was “bloom” and even bought a bracelet with this word on it to remind myself throughout the year when things got tough.

And then things got tough for us all.

Because I’m a heart transplant recipient who is immunosuppressed, the 2020 arrival of the SARS-CoV-2 in the U.S. threw a monkey wrench into my blooming plans very early. Plans with friends new and old were cancelled, travel was placed on hold, dance lessons were ceased, The Boy’s retirement arrived not with a bang, but a whimper… and life came to a grinding halt.

And yet Ophelia bloomed. She bloomed with so many gorgeous purple and white flowers that their weight threatens to pull her over. Strangely enough, she also brought a friend with her from Washington, as a second plant of unknown origin has not only grown in her pot, but has flourished.

My gut tells me I must pull this interloper from the soil so that it’s not competing with Ophelia for nourishment and sun. But my heart can’t bear to separate her from her friend.

I’m on Day 34 of my quarantine. People ask me often if I’m scared to death of getting the virus... but the truth is, I’m not. We’ve prepared well and I’ve already fought my way back from death once. That gives me a tremendous amount of fortitude— and deep experience in both germ mitigation and long periods of quarantine. While I still battle an immense amount of anxiety and depression (table stakes for heart transplant recipients, especially those with brain injuries), I have the pleasure of being cooped up with the only person in the world I’d choose to be cooped up with.

For all my big plans for the year, for all my disappointment in the fact that I’ve accomplished nothing of note in quarantine, for all of my nonstop self-doubt... I think that maybe, just maybe, this is what blooming means to me in 2020.

Stay safe, friends. And try to acknowledge how you’re blooming as well.