I Would Do It For You Too

This x-mas cactus came from my mom. About a year ago her elderly neighbors moved, trusting the life of their ancient massive cactus into the caring arms of my mother. I came for a visit in the summer and immediately fell in love with it. Lucky for me, mom had no interest in caring for such a behemoth and was practically shoving it in a box with my name on it the second I mentioned its beauty. It had already suffered some loss of limb, been cast from the house to weather the elements, and appeared a bit parched. I think it was my moms way of killing it kindly instead of suffer the guilt of just tossing the neighbors heirloom in the trash, something we can all relate to when cleaning out the closet. So in a box it went, then on my plane with the luggage and up to Seattle. I was having doubts about reviving the giant as I pulled it from its box leaving many of its shriveling parts behind. I decided to give it a chance. I pulled out my biggest pot, bought the best soil at the nursery and kindly planted my new friend. It struggled, looking ragged and sad, I held back its water thinking of other cacti, I drenched it in the best midday sun, but it couldn't beat the depression. I called my mom, frustrated, after 4 months. She said "Oh! I guess I didn't tell you the instructions that were left with it!" Instructions!?! "One liter of water a week and moderate sunlight, that is what the neighbor did for something like 50 years." A liter a week!?! No wonder it was looking like crap. So, for the last 2 months a liter a week its gotten. It looks amazing! I was so proud of it, reaching out and stretching its branches. I was beside myself when I noticed its first new leaf, a tiny pale green sign of hope. Then there were more, on almost every limb, triumph. Last week I was in the kitchen where the cactus lives atop the fridge on brilliant display when I noticed something on a low limb that often hits my tall roommate on the head. I inspected closer and smiled. Looking around the plant I noticed more, one on almost every outstretched leaf. She was blooming. I took it as a thank you from her in the most beautiful display of bright red. She is alive and well again.