Healthy growth

I so identify with a repotted plant. Although I don't feel that I am the type that shies away from change, I recognize now that I am not immune to the natural effects of it, either. I've had a fairly vivid illustration of this sitting on my kitchen counter for about one month now. When my first child, T, was born, my mother gave D and I a basket filled with tiny young plants. It has been with us all this time, 11 and 1/2 years. At first there were three plants. One of the plants didn't make it through the first year and I had completely forgotten about it until now. It had small palm like leaves and was very upright. The other two were trailing plants with differently shaped leaves. We had repotted it once before, but it had been in the new container for at least 7 years. It survived the move, and its pot was undamaged. For a while now, we have known that it was sickly or at least not nearly as robust as it had once been. As things finally settled a little more for us in the new home, we decided to get our old plant friends a new abode as well. Finding the pot was easy enough. Moving the plant over didn't seem exceptionally difficult. (Probably because in the world of plants, we are as close as it comes to simple idiots.) D left to pot on our kitchen bar, and we watched. Some of the branches had broken off during the repotting process and we had those in a pot of water by the sink. Time went speedily onward and those branches in the water were thriving, growing all kinds of new roots. The plant in the pot, however, seemed to be dying. It was more than shock. One by one all of the green leaves, and many of the branches withered and yellowed. It was a bit painful, like watching a sick child and wondering if they'll recover. I tried not to be unduly concerned, I even empathized with the plant. My life during the last year has seemed much like that plant. Things that I believed about my life and marriage were simply not realistic. I had been allowed and led to believe things that weren't true by the only one whose honesty could have made all of the difference with respect to my understanding of our relationship. I felt a kinship with the poor withering plant. I knew of its suffering. Interestingly, D carefully picked off the dying parts and worried for it as the weeks went by, fretting now and then over what seemed like an impending and certain demise. Something in me, maybe the way my own soul has started to regain it's strength, assured me that the old plant would make it. About a week ago, we started to see some new growth and although the plant is very sparse now, it seems quite healthy. The branches that have been in the water all this time are also doing very well, and when the rest of the plant seems to be a little stronger, we'll add them to the larger pot: A bit of the old added back into the new, although now completely separate and distinct plants.
As for myself, I recognized some truly healthy growth of spirit. Strength is returning that I had nearly forgotten, along with some I never knew before. I'm not withering and yellowing any longer, I'm growing now.