Sunday, April 25, 2010
My Christmas cactuses were a gift from my friend Rica, who also gave me most of the other plants I have in my house. She would bring me tiny cuttings and tell me exactly what to do to make them thrive.
Rica had a way of making everything -- and everyone -- around her thrive. She brought simple acts of kindness with her wherever she went -- and she refused to think anything bad about anyone.
She would come into my office every day and say something like, "I love you, Ami. You are so beautiful." It didn't matter that she said the same to everyone else. It was so heartfelt and genuine that it just made everything better.
Rica died of an aneurysm two years ago this week. She was only 49. I think of her nearly every day, and I try to share with others a little bit of the light she shared with me. When my cactuses bloom -- this is the third time this year already -- I consider it Rica's way of reminding me that you only need to look closely to see the good in the world.
"Love everybody," she says. "Even those who don't seem to deserve it. Just love them."
I miss her.