I was watering earlier today when I noticed a dying plant, hidden in a corner of my small balcony garden.
Once thriving, this succulent doesn’t seem to have coped when I rearranged things a few weeks ago. I think I may have overwatered as well.
I felt a bit upset looking at the little plant.
For amongst the sludge of plant debris was also scatters of broken crockery, shells, banksia seed and a plastic echidna. Small relics from my mother’s garden back in Australia.
It was actually mum who gave me this plant when she visited us in the Philippines during 2019. It was her first trip overseas and she bought my son (then 11 years old) some plants to encourage him into gardening.
On her second trip (one year later) mum arrived the day before the COVID19 lockdowns, and then spent 3 months holed up in our tiny apartment. Unable to go outside and experience any of the beautiful tropical flowers and plants here, my mother inspired me to create a garden on the public balconies in front of our apartment.
Three months into the pandemic, a series of miracles granted mum a seat on a repatriation flight back to Australia.
The garden has flourished in the years since her visit and we have cats (three) now as well.
Mum never made it back to the Philippines. She died last October (2025). But I did manage to show her (via video call and photos) how the plants she bought for us have become an integral part of the garden.
I didn’t make it back to Australia for the funeral and our final video call, just a few days before she passed, was a heartfelt goodbye and messages of thanks. It’s something I will always be grateful for.
In our last video call, mum was thrilled to see this dieffenbachia (just a baby when she visited) grown to an enormous size.
Finding that plant this morning, dying, it seems so incredible how something so healthy and beautiful can fade so suddenly. Perhaps it did go downhill fast. Perhaps I just wasn’t paying attention.
We cling to life so confidently, yet so naively. Because when it all changes quickly we feel so unprepared.
Mum was diagnosed with cancer of the oesophagus and in just a few weeks she was gone. She was 82. She was my mum. And she is gone.
It still feels surreal having not been home yet. But the relics from her garden are a daily reminder that I will be returning home to Australia in the coming months.
And the reality of it, the finality of it, will occur.
I’m glad I have these plants.
Over the years since 2019, I’ve separated the succulent that mum bought us many many times. It’s great to have more than a few thriving still on the balcony.