…the best kind of change, is the change that comes from the inside and begins its way out until it emerges on the outside; a change that is born underneath then continues and spreads until it has reached the surface. That’s a true change. A powerful change. ~ C. JoyBelle C.

A few days ago I strolled the Japanese Gardens at the Chicago Botanic Gardens. I rested on a slatted bench in the midst of a garden of water lilies, sat long enough to watch the lotus, fully open, gradually close its petals as the afternoon skies darkened. I contemplated the constant flow of rushing water in the waterfall gardens. It was a cloudy afternoon, not hot though, as a breeze blew in from Lake Michigan. Fishy air is often a part of the Chicago sensory experience. It was somehow comforting, an in-the-moment connection.

I wandered, sat, absorbed, felt surrounded and held: as I centered myself in the gardens; as I strolled, hand-in-hand with my husband of 38 years; as we sent comfort to each other in our language of hand squeezes and quiet glances.

Sherpa and I had spent the morning with his mother. It was a morning fraught with emotion and change, one of those times in life when a major life change — deeply feared — was inevitable. We were there to tell my mother-in-law that independent living was no longer an option, that her medical situation now required a move to an assisted care facility . The move was no longer a plan in the future, it was a necessity.

As I gently told her she had to move, she expressed an array of emotions – disbelief, confusion, anger, frustration, fear, denial. I watched her eyes as we talked, as she realized we couldn’t change the plans. Gradually she realized her children, doctor and the administrator of her current living situation were in agreement – she could no longer live in her apartment.

“What if I refuse?” she asked.

I held her hand and said as kindly as I could, “That’s not a choice.”

I deeply empathized with M, perhaps because I have been in similar situations — times when I grasped that I was struggling, when I needed more care than I could provide for myself, when I refused to give up control but the situation demanded another person make decisions for my care and safety. For me, those occurrences were temporary. But the feelings of knowing that one has lost their basic, decision-making powers is deeply frightening.

I don’t think I understood that this awareness was present while I was speaking to my mother-in-law, but once we left her apartment, I knew I had to find a green space to walk and process all that had transpired.

The Chicago Botanical Garden was not far from our route home, and we stopped.

I stood in the grasses of the gardens and grounded myself, visualized sending an anchor deep within the earth, visualized a calm light surrounding me from above. Re-connection.

I contemplated the lotus, a plant whose beginning are in muddied waters. The plant sends up a stalk much like an umbilical cord, its leaves open upon the water’s surface, and the flower rises above the water, opening into a magnificent blossom high above the waters.

The lotus breaks free of its muddy origins and emerges white and pure, with a brilliantly yellow pod, a tiny sun.

Change. Renewal.

Sitting on a bench and watching the open lotus slowly close as evening approached, I thought about my mother-in-law entering a new phase of her life. It was a small comfort to realize that the closed lotus flower would open again in the morning, and that M would pass through this stage of her life and eventually move into a different stage, and into her own light, in her own way.

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Bo Mackison is photographer, book-maker, collector of stories, naturalist, and owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC. I am also daughter in law, and I have the deepest respect for my mother-in-law, doing the best that she can in a most difficult time.