Welcome to Cee’s Flower of the Day Challenge (FOTD). Please use either new or your archived photos for this challenge. Feel free to post every day or when you you feel like it.

This morning I was taken with the gorgeous early morning sunlight coming in our office window, a rarity this time of year in rainy Oregon. As I saw it dance over the plant that my sister Jane and her husband sent me after Cee died, I thought what a metaphor for grieving it was. The plant arrived with bare roots and the potting material. I got it settled into its new home immediately, but it’s been a month since then and it is only now starting to get new growth.
So I grabbed my iPhone and took a couple of shots. Except in the first one I cut off the left side of the plant. On the second shot I cut off, you guessed it, the right side of the plant. Then I noticed how busy the background was so I tried to find someplace else to put my plant but I wanted the sunshine. Cee would have known how to do something with the background. I can imagine her looking down on me with her librarian stare and just shaking her head.
Yeah, honey, you made it look so easy!


So here’s the thing about grief. It requires a lot of patience. Like the plant, I’ve been all bare roots and unpotted for over a month now. Bare roots mean that you’re open to all kinds of pain and confusion. The world seems scary in a way that you can’t even imagine. You plant your roots by reaching out to those you know and trust, by finding comfort in little everyday things, by spending time thinking about all the good times, the happy times you’ve had. You make sure you’re getting good food, lots of water and plenty of sunshine. And lots and lots of rest, when you can, as you can, because your roots are in shock from the upheaval in your life. But little bit by little bit, as you take root in your life again, you find new growth happening. Maybe it’s a smile when you didn’t think you could smile any more. Maybe it’s seeing a butterfly or hearing a child laugh. Maybe it’s waking up one morning realizing that you slept through the night. But new growth will come. Slowly, hesitatingly, but it will come.
Hugs to all!
Chris, in Cee’s memory





































































































