I think I've killed my plant...

Thing is, I’ve never claimed to have green fingers. Much to the contrary, I’ve been very honest about my inadvertent tendency to kill plants. Almost by way of introduction. Hi, my name is Lisi, and plants in my care, die... So, what do you do? 

About three years ago I took the plunge and adopted a plant in my mother’s garden. To this day I have no idea what sort of plant it is. Was. I even named it at some point to show my affection, but for the life of me I can’t remember its name either. Let’s just call it Unlucky in the light of recent events. 

Like many other plants, Unlucky was birthed at a very young age through a process that I know nothing about. Destined to live a life of leafiness, sunlight, growth, greenness etc., its main goal in life, just like its forefathers, was photosynthesis. A noble calling I say, very noble indeed. More so, Unlucky was an overachiever. Determined to not only exist, but thrive. Qualities that was sure to come in handy (or leafy?) later in life. 

Naturally, after Unlucky was potted and positioned in a not-too-hot, not-too-shady area of my flat, its insistence on living a noble plant life soon was put to the test. Survival became a way of life. Now believe me when I say that, in the deepest corners of my heart, it is, and always has been, my true intention and desire for plants to grow and breathe and drink and spread its leaves and flower and blossom into all it was intended to be. For a while there, I honestly thought that Unlucky and I were the best of mates, living together in harmony and in favour of chlorophyll, thinking that Unlucky sure was the best plant that anyone could ever ask for, loving me despite all my agri-shortcomings. The sort of friendship where we lay down our lives for one another. And that’s possibly what Unlucky has now done. Such a selfless plant. Happy to live with me in the knowledge of the implications which, among other things, included premature and certain death.

Unlucky was such a friendly plant. Just quietly sitting there in its corner, minding its own business. Never said anything nasty to anyone. Very quiet type of plant. Steady character. Deep waters.

To be honest, I’m not even sure that Unlucky has in fact died. He just sort of looks incredibly miserable. Deeply depressed. Like this photosynthesis thing is getting the better of him. Despite all my nurturing efforts and eco-therapy, Unlucky’s condition remains. At this point, I’m not sure whether I should consider medication or an autopsy. And if he dies, do I bury him in the ground? That might upset the other plants. 

Either way, I hereby dedicate this blog to Unlucky and his unfortunate fortune. If you feel a burden for Unlucky and think you may be able to save him or slightly prolong his life in the face of premature and certain death, please share your botanical insights lest Unlucky should perish and so that grace doesn’t have to abound so freely just quite yet.

Sincerely yours.

[The author unconditionally apologises if this article has in any way, shape or form upset the reader and hereby reserves the right to clarify any green policy misinterpretations that may occur and further wishes to express sincere heartfelt sentiment and other consequential objectives in relation to a profound fondness for trees, shrubs, leaves and other green things.]