Plants as Metaphors

I can't keep a freaking house plant alive to save my life. Today, I cried for about 10 minutes because I killed the last of the funeral plants, sent to my mom's service. I don't know if I over water them, under sunlight them, the reverse? Who knows?

When my mom first became ill, back in 2002, I bought out her mortgage to prevent the state from taking it. My mom was a huge plant lover. She had "spider plants", or whatever they're really called, with limbs over six feet long. Beautiful plants that she'd had as long as I can recall. Our home was full of tons beautiful, flourishing, plants, in every room. She even cared for one in my bedroom, for me. She gave me starter plants from those, for every new place I lived... and I killed every one. None the less, she gave me one every single time I moved.

When I moved into her house, I killed every single one of those plants within 6 months. The two I managed to keep alive, I killed re-potting. I cried and cried, consulted plant experts, web sites, relatives... everyone and anyone I thought could help. Nothing helped. They all died.

When my mom was in comfort care, near the end, I found out from her foster mother that some of those plants were like 5 and 6th generation plants. She said I may have smothered them, overcaring for them. So poignant. Anyway, with these funeral plants, I tried leaving them alone... they started to die anyway. I don't know. I can't win.

I'm destructive.