Seed Starter Pack

Watching the Seeds Grow
by Mom

I watched the seeds emerge from their starter pack—
so unsure of how to begin.
How much soil should I place above each one?
Should I add gravel below,
for drainage?

I didn’t know how much to water.
At times, I drenched them daily,
convinced that more was more—
other days, I left them dry,
forgotten in the blur of everything.

Still, they sprouted.
And with each green tendril,
my wonder bloomed alongside my fear:
What do I do next?
Some thrived,
reaching for the light in ways that told me
it was time to move them to a bigger pot.
Others took longer—
so I waited,
let them find their own roots.

It was all an experiment, wasn’t it?
How was I to know how much sun they needed,
or whether the moon would pull something ancient from the soil?
The moon felt unsettled some nights,
and I slipped back into uncertainty.

Sure there are books to guide and religion to border you in—
but they couldn’t account
for the great unknown that lives in the future.

There were times when one got more than the other.

One sucked up the nutrients more readily.

One that was harder, if not impossible, at the moment to get to.

Was I the answer?
I, too, leaned towards the sun,
and shyly danced with the moonlight.
Building bridges before you crossed them was my life’s mission.
I stacked the odds in your favor
because I couldn’t bear to watch you fall.

But you had to taste the earth for yourself.
You needed to know
that wounds aren’t permanent—
and often, they are not meant to harm,
only to teach.
That kind of knowing
cannot be spoken—only lived.

I still have more questions than answers.
I know, when you were small,
you looked to me for absolutes.
And sometimes I left you wandering
in a strange and foreign terrain.
But I’ve come to see
that the questions hold their own comfort.
That the future is made of potential,
and potential is never fully known.

I feel an immense love
watching your life unfold—
your footsteps,

your triumphs
your falls,
your choosing.
I want to clear the path,
warn you of every stumbling stone,
but I’ve come to understand:
the debris is part of it too.
And it was never meant to blind you.

The seeds sprouted and they only have a faint resemblance of the picture on the packet.

More phenomenal than my grandest imagination…

Thank you for your faith in me—
for choosing me.
I hope you weren’t in a hurry.

With all my love, for eternity...
Mom