What She Planted: Zelma's Story

It was in the emergency department at Royal Darwin Hospital that we first learned of Mum’s illness.

Time stood still for several horrifically long minutes. All of the strange murmurings that surrounded us in the emergency department faded into the background.

Suddenly an awful realisation tore through us. The reason Mum, who had seemed perfectly well only weeks earlier, had quickly become so unwell.

Ovarian Cancer.

That was a mere 6 weeks ago and occurred while Mum and Dad were visiting from interstate. She went from attending school concerts and playing with the grandkids in the swimming pool, to being deeply unwell in a matter of weeks.

Up to that point, we all thought she’d been lucky. That the wretched curse that had affected some of her family members over the years, had graciously passed her by.

Turns out, we were wrong.

Fast track to today, and here Mum finds herself - in the throes of uncertainty, weakened organs, constant nausea, swelling, chemo, and scarily, it is only the beginning. A lesser person could be forgiven for crumbling. God knows, I have at times.

So often, we hear these stories only as part of a tribute, obituary or memorial, after a family has lost someone. But shouldn’t we tell them while our loved ones are still here? So, they can hear how deeply they are loved and truly understand the difference they’ve made in our lives.

Throughout Mum’s life, I am guilty of seeing her accepting attitude as complacency. Even when things seemed grossly unfair or she was treated poorly, she would be accepting. She has a way of compartmentalising things as a way to cope. Seeing how she has accepted what she is facing today, I now see there is a deep and profound strength in her acceptance.

It’s not giving up or some kind of blind wilful hope that everything will be fine. It’s an awareness that whatever happens from here, she will accept it.

Mum has always had a quiet faith in her life. She’s never imposed it on anyone. Her relationship with God is her own, and it truly seems to help carry her through dark times, of which she’s known many. It may also be a reason behind Mum’s ability to give to those around her.

Community service is a bit of an old-fashioned idea these days. But Mum has taught me what it truly means. The sort of community service that she participates in is not for show or reward or acknowledgment, it is for others. Purely and simply.

When COVID-19 tipped our world up-and-down, Mum was locked down in regional Victoria with Dad. Gardening has always been a passion of Mum’s, so its unsurprising she found solace in that during that time.

Her garden is far from the manicured, colour-schemed, North Shore variety. It surrounds a modest country home in a small regional Victorian town. It features repurposed features, like mirrors and water features, a variety of odd pots and pans overflowing with greenery, roses, petunias, jasmine, lavender…I could go on.

It’s an eclectic mix of colour and life, all lovingly prepared and nurtured by Mum with occasional labour and Op-Shop finds from her right-hand man, Dad.

Inspired by her sister-in-law’s efforts, Mum decided she would make flower arrangements using whatever she could gather from her garden to pass the time during lockdown. On the same day every week, she would think of a theme, collect whatever she could find in her garden, and put together a simple arrangement as best she could. With warm hands tucked into garden gloves and secateurs in hand, she would gently build each bouquet in the sunshine.

Yes, this was resourceful and imaginative and kept her busy during lock down. But it wasn’t that part that made it special. If this small weekly gesture made her feel happy inside, Mum wondered if it would for others.

And so, it began.

Mum started to send a photo of her flowers to her friends. She’d see someone at church who seemed lonely; she would send them her picture. She’d run into a friend at the supermarket; she’d send them her picture. She would talk to her sister on the phone; she would send them her picture. Someone from Zumba would ask if she could share her picture with them; she would send them her picture.

Slowly but surely, over the years that followed, Mum accumulated over 150 people who enjoyed getting a colourful reminder each week that someone was thinking of them. Like a vibrant water vine creeping over a canopy, Mum’s joy for gardening spread across the country in the form of a weekly photo – sometimes blurry – of her modest flower arrangements.

Despite being in her senior years, Mum paid special attention to people older than her, those who were often living alone or away from family. It became her way of checking in on them each week. They’d exchange a few simple text messages and Mum would know they were okay, and hope that she had brightened their day a little.

Often the days in between, she’d make similar gestures by sending messages to check on Wordle scores or just check in for the sake of it. She developed new friendships and she strengthened old ones.

Over time, it became clear to her adult children that Mum was sending these pictures to a lot of people. We would suggest starting a Facebook page or WhatsApp group to make it easier. What about a group email? But Mum would resist our suggestions because she knew some people didn’t want to be included in a group email or message. They enjoyed getting a personal message from Mum. So, she dedicated the time she needed to.

Mum would sit down every week with a printed spreadsheet and methodically message every single person with a few kind words and a picture of that week’s arrangement.

Even on the winter days when very little was in bloom, she would always muster up something to share. This became a ritual of sorts for Mum. It would take her over an hour each week to send all of these messages, and this continued religiously every week until she became too unwell to do it.

It was a sad day when Mum’s flower picture didn’t arrive.

Mum isn’t a wealthy woman, but if you base someone’s value on how they make others feel, she is made of pure gold. I am lucky to have good friends in my life and a strong family around me, but I haven’t touched anywhere near as many people’s lives as Mum has.

That’s what sharing this story is about. It’s a reminder that the smallest acts of kindness have meaning. A wave to your neighbour. A handwritten note. A recipe shared with a friend. We may not realise what a person is carrying. They may have had some bad news, be feeling lonely, or even be sitting in an armchair receiving chemotherapy.

Many of us read stories like this, and they are usually followed by a call to action – donate to cancer prevention or a go-fund-me page. All worthy causes, indeed, and worthy of your generosity and support.

But the message from Mum’s story is a simple one that everyone can do, regardless of their resources.

Take a leaf out of Mum’s book and show love through simple and kind gestures to others.

Plant seeds in the lives of people around you. Share a part of yourself with another person.

Colourful flowers – tiny symbols of love and quiet acts of kindness.

We all need a bit more of that in our lives.

In deep loving memory of Zelma Joyce Eltringham, 13.08.50 – 05.08.26.

Zelma in her beloved garden

Some of Zelma’s beautiful creations