When I was growing up in Memphis, a family pastime in December was driving around the city looking at houses known for their dazzling Christmas displays. Although mom and dad would never have considered having a Christmas tree, wreath or any other yuletide decoration in our Jewish home, they wanted us to appreciate other religions and enjoy the beauty of the season.
Although I looked forward to all of those magical Christmas lights and helping our neighbors hang treasured ornaments on their trees, there was one holiday decoration that gave me the creeps: poinsettias. I found their weird, pointy leaves to be menacing.
Maybe it was my overactive imagination stimulated by watching “The Twilight Zone,” but I questioned where these multitudes of plants had come from and why. Had they been dropped on Earth by body-snatching aliens? Were their leaves deep red because the plants were carnivores?
Of course, I eventually realized they were just innocent greenery, but I still wasn’t a fan. That’s why I was not particularly pleased when three poinsettias showed up last year at the Siteman Cancer Center information desk, where I volunteer on Thursdays. Like so many other gifts, the poinsettias were left by an anonymous donor who just wanted to bring a bit of holiday cheer to patients and their families.
Luckily for me, Kevin, my Thursday teammate at the time, became immediately attached to the plants. At the beginning of each shift, he would gently press a finger into the soil of each pot to determine if the poinsettias were too dry. He fetched water from a nearby sink and used a paper cup to tenderly hydrate each thirsty plant.
And it wasn’t just Kevin. On other days, different volunteers, Siteman staff members and even patients made sure the plants got sufficient attention.
Because I’m no expert on poinsettias or any plants, for that matter, I’m not sure what made them thrive at this Siteman location on the seventh floor of the Center for Advanced Medicine. Maybe it was the unusual combination of things: an abundance of artificial and natural light, the soothing classical music wafting upstairs from the lobby piano, and being surrounded by so much concern and compassion.
I thought the plants wouldn’t last much after December, but they just kept growing. It didn’t matter that they were in their original plastic pots and that their roots needed more space and soil. Even I had to respect their perseverance.
Over the months, these healthy plants became unofficial mascots for our cancer patients. Some said the poinsettias gave them hope that they too would overcome their challenges and flourish.
As spring approached, Kevin needed to drop his Thursday shift. Much to my surprise, I began making the poinsettias a top priority when I arrived. And I admit, I might have even whispered to them a bit, begging them to hang on. Then I got a new volunteer partner, Sue, a retired nurse with a true green thumb whose instincts were far better than mine. Her arrival gave those plants a much better chance for survival.
At the end of this September, all of us working on the seventh floor were transferred to the new Siteman ambulatory building at Forest Park and Taylor avenues. We were told there was no need to move anything. It was all being taken care of.
But Sue and I began to wonder what would happen to the poinsettias. Concerned they would either be thrown out or left alone to perish, we came up with a plan. We decided to meet on the seventh floor the weekend before the move, grab the plants and carry them to one of our cars parked in the Laclede garage.
Transporting the poinsettias turned out to be more cumbersome than we expected, so we dug through all the items abandoned beneath the information desk looking for something that might help us with our mission. It was bashert (destined). We found a collapsible cart with wheels buried under a bunch of tote bags. The three plants fit perfectly in the cart, so we wheeled them past the security guards, out of the building, up a steep ramp and over the Forest Park skybridge to the garage.
We decided to split caring for the plants. Sue took them first and replanted them in spiffy porcelain pots containing rich, fertilized soil. She then turned them over to me, and they stayed in my kitchen until we felt it was safe to move them to the new Siteman building.
Despite my black thumb, I was thrilled to see my guests continue to sprout new leaves. Toward the beginning of the holiday season in November, I knew it was time for their return. I didn’t want to give them up, but Siteman was their home, not mine.
So, I took the smallest one back first and put it on the fifth-floor volunteer desk in the new building. Late that afternoon, a familiar face at Siteman approached the desk and admired the plant. I told the gentleman it was one of the original three from the former location and described their somewhat amusing rescue.
“You made my day,” the man said as his face lit up with joy. “I was the one who donated the poinsettias.”
He explained that he never expected the poinsettias would live this long and was touched that so many people cared about the plants.
His reaction made me think of the story of Hanukkah, in which the Maccabees defeated the Syrian Greek army and retook the Second Temple in Jerusalem. When they rededicated the Temple, they only had enough uncontaminated oil to light its menorah for one day. Miraculously, the oil lasted for eight days instead of one, far longer than anyone expected.
The miracle of Hanukkah is about light shining through darkness, and that’s how I look at these particular poinsettias now. In this holiday season, when many people are facing adversity, these vibrant plants, like the candles on the menorah, are symbols that we can prevail if we have hope, tenacity and love for one another.
