I was born on Easter, catching a spirit of enthusiasm and eternal hope that has not faltered for 76 years. I can always find hope, ever ready to mend what is broken. There is only one exception… I am absolutely horrible with indoor plants. If you are kind enough to give me a plant, I admit, it is usually less than a month before it ends us in my roommate’s room, which I lovingly refer to as “plant ICU”. But in an age of AI and computer wizardry, I recently discovered the joy of having a plant that has lived passed the 3-month mark without needing to visit the ICU. It is a waxed amaryllis. A waxed amaryllis seems almost magical, it’s a plant that grows and blooms with no watering, no fertilizing, and often no visible soil.

In reality the waxed amaryllis bulb already contains everything it needs to produce one flowering cycle. The bulb is a storage organ, an amaryllis bulb is not just a seed; it is a fully formed plant in miniature, already holding stored carbohydrates (energy), moisture, nutrients, and a pre-formed flower bud. During the previous growing season, the plant’s leaves produced sugars through photosynthesis and stored them in the bulb. That stored energy is what fuels the next bloom. In other words, the plant is living on reserves, not newly acquired resources. The wax seals in moisture, the thick wax coating serves several purposes: it prevents the bulb from drying out, protects it from damage and mold, holds the bulb upright without soil and reduces evaporation. Because the bulb already contains water, the wax helps conserve what is there, so it lasts long enough to support growth and flowering. Most waxed amaryllis bulbs contain either no soil at all or a small compact base of compressed peat or coco fiber, sawdust or wood fiber, or lightweight planting mix. Sometimes there is simply a weighted base and no soil whatsoever. The bulb’s roots do not function much during this bloom cycle. Light triggers growth. Sunlight does not feed the bulb immediately, the stored energy does that, but light guides growth and helps the emerging leaves begin photosynthesis, extending the life of the bloom. The growth of the amaryllis is analogous to the grief journey. Light is the fundamental element needed for growth.

Soon after receiving my waxed amaryllis, I put it in a bay window where it could feast easily on the morning sun. I spent time every morning reflecting on the similarities between this miraculous plant and the work of grief. A waxed amaryllis is a powerful metaphor for how people grow through grief. After a loss many people feel as if they have nothing left to give. They may feel dry, exhausted, or unable to take in new nourishment. And yet somehow growth still happens. Like the amaryllis bulb, grievers carry hidden reserves: love planted over years, strength they did not know they possessed, wisdom from past struggles, faith or meaning that lives quietly inside.

In the early months of grief, we often live on these reserves. We may not feel strong, but something inside us continues the work of healing. Even when life feels sealed off, like the wax around the bulb, growth is still possible. We reach toward light, be it a kind word, a memory, a moment of beauty, a quiet prayer or a supportive friend. These small lights do not erase grief, but they help guide us upward. And just like the amaryllis, grief growth often produces something unexpectedly beautiful like tenderness, compassion, deeper understanding, or a new appreciation for life. These orient us toward life again. And just as with the amaryllis, something unexpected often emerges: a deeper tenderness, a greater compassion, a more profound understanding of what it means to love.

But the amaryllis also teaches another truth, reserves alone are not enough forever. Eventually the bulb needs real soil and water. In the same way, people grieving need nourishment, companionship, time, rest, meaningful rituals, and gentle support. Grief growth begins from what is already inside us, but healing deepens when we allow ourselves to be cared for. The waxed amaryllis reminds us that even when we feel depleted, life is still quietly unfolding within us, reaching toward light.

The Waxed Amaryllis

Sealed in quiet wax,
you stand without soil,
without water,
without tending hands
and still you rise.

Somewhere inside you
a hidden memory of summer
keeps working,
drawing on what was stored
long before this winter room.

You do not hurry.
You do not ask for more
than a little light.

And slowly, almost secretly,
a green spear appears

 proof that life remembers
how to begin again.

So it is with the grieving heart:
when love has been planted deeply,
something remains
strength laid down in better seasons,
tenderness stored in the dark.

We bloom first
from what we carry within,

until one day
we find our roots again.