Delicate

We are in the hallway, getting ready to leave, when I notice the green plants close to my eye level, growing fresh and vibrant, as if she waters them with kind words and not water. I quickly make a mental note that there are actually a lot of plants in her apartment – there were definitely some big ones in the cosy room where we just had breakfast.

"She cannot help it, even if she tried," I thought. This woman exudes life, and everything she is responsible for, has a flourishing energy that radiates and shines right into your eyes. Her children are the real testimonial to that. Still, looking at those plants, those cheerful little companions of the family, I quickly figured out it was her and her limitless energy of a true giver that is absorbed by everything she touches.

My home also filled up with plants of different sizes and colours. She brought them to me, and my response was always the same: "I hope they make it," already envisioning their slow decay, because I somehow never manage to keep my gardens alive and flourishing. She doesn’t respond; she only brings me more flowers every time, and I am petrified they will inevitably die, so I’m treating them like little blooming patients that need life support – little scarves to keep them warm, water from the filter, enough sunlight – far from direct heat and hidden from sudden winds.

She talks to me kindly, with care, but I know better than to mistake her kindness for weakness. She has such a powerful and decisive manner that I already know which battles are not worth fighting against her. I have never met someone who is so nurturing and delicate by nature, yet goes through life like a chaotic but skilful warrior. That’s how I see her – a woman, a giver, a healer, a soldier.

A sharp mind, hers is. Her humour is thought-provoking; her writing – engulfing. I often ask myself how she does it, and sometimes I will let her know I wonder that, but I never asked her directly: how can you be so much of a woman? How can you be that woman day after day – I never hear you really complaining, I never see you looking for help, I could never imagine you slowing down, and it scares me, because we all have our limits – how could you not?

She goes about her day, saving the thin threads of life from being cut – be it a hedgehog attacked by a dog, or a friend in need of a friend. She will write a story about this one day – a moving, touching tribute to a seemingly ordinary moment that felt extraordinary, just because she has the eyes to recognise it and the heart to feel it. And when you read what she writes, you can actually see her fully.

Carbo's Stories

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NIB & Ember