A Flower, a Friend, and a Connection From Beyond

by Megan R. Bartlett *

In May, Paul – my dearest friend – died of glioblastoma. When he was nearing the end of his life, I remarked to him that I was glad to have made so many new connections through him over the years. He always seemed to be at ease with others, making new acquaintances wherever he went just by being friendly and open to conversation about anything, even (maybe especially) topics with which he disagreed. In the months since his death, I have felt supported by many of his friends and acquaintances, but I never expected that he would still, from his current cosmic existence, have the capacity to make a new connection and “introduce me” to that person.

This introduction came by way of a gaillardia plant, a beautiful red sunburst flower I received in June from Paul’s nephew and his wife. Though I graciously accepted it, I felt wary about keeping it because plants tend not to thrive in my care and I couldn’t stand to kill a plant given in his memory. But I brought it home and, in my haste to get it in the ground, I planted it in front of my apartment building between two large bushes and in the shadow of a magnolia tree. Frankly, it looked kind of sad there, but I could see it when I came and went each day, so that seemed good.

Within a few days, its leaves were droopy and turning yellow. I anxiously searched online and learned it needs more sun than what my side of the building gets, so I uprooted it and replanted it on the west side of the building. However, because it was now out of my line of sight, I had to intentionally check on it every day. I started to enjoy this ritual and found myself talking to the plant, touching the leaves, and smelling the fragrant flowers. To my delight, it began thriving with bright red blooms by the dozen and healthy leaves as long as I watered it every day during those intense heat waves. It felt really good to take care of it.

Then one day I saw that someone had removed some of the dead blooms and tossed them nearby. At first, I was mad, feeling possessive of the plant. If someone was trimming my plant, would they take good care of it? In a few days, the plant had many more buds, so it was clearly doing well after being tended to in that way. So, I, too, started removing the dead flowers. The plant continued to thrive. 

On another sweltering day, I came out and saw the plant had already been watered. Anger swept over me again. Who is this mystery person watering my plant? What if they overwater it? The anger was quickly replaced by a sense of relief; someone else was looking out for my plant. Surely it would have a better chance of surviving.

When I came back the next day, I saw an older man cutting off the dried stems. I introduced myself and told him I had planted it there (though what almost came out of my mouth was, “That’s my plant!”). He told me his name and said he used to cultivate many plants at his former home and he missed doing so. Day after day I would find my neighbor outside reading and we’d check on the plant together. He seemed to enjoy tending to it like I do. He taught me about how to “dead head” without stressing the plant, how most plants can survive drought easier than flood, and that I should have gently scored the root ball before planting it so the roots would spread instead of staying tightly bound, as we could both see they still were.

In mid-August, we both noticed the back third of the plant was dying rapidly, the leaves and stems turning brown and new buds turning black. It alarmed us and we wondered for a day or two what could be going on. Then we figured it out — poison. The landscaping company (who we both loathe for their indiscriminate use of weed killer around the property) had recently sprayed some “weeds” (clover, wild violets) near the gaillardia plant and must have hit the back portion of it.

This lack of care and the thought of losing the plant distressed me so much that I started to cry. As I stood there crying, I explained to my neighbor why this plant meant so much to me — how I had lost my dearest friend and felt that he was now alive to me in this plant. I shared about Paul and his easy way of connecting with others and that even from the Beyond through this little plant, Paul had connected me to him. My neighbor smiled and said he, too, is someone like Paul who always makes connections wherever he goes. And he reassured me that he thought we could save the plant. 

Last week, I went out and he had trimmed off the poisoned parts and some dead stems. There were new buds on the first half of it and even though the petals were flattened a bit from a heavy rain, the plant looked okay. Today I saw bees returning for nourishment from it, which was a happy sign. I think it’s going to make it until the first frost when it will have its natural end and not an untimely one, which feels like a small gift from the Universe after the perceived injustice of losing Paul too soon. A sense of purpose, gardening knowledge, connection with Paul from the Beyond, and a new friend: who knew that one little plant could offer me so much?  

* Megan R. Bartlett is a ’95 BASH alum who now lives in the Philadelphia area. She is a licensed professional counselor and certified spiritual director who enjoys crafting, writing, and communing with Nature, especially her beloved cats.

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