I saw it there, nestled among the other plants as I finally planted the bulbs from our Easter lily. It was a tiny purple columbine plant. It made me smile to myself. I reflected on the previous spring, when my daughter, Brie, insisted I plant it there in the front garden, near to the street. I suggested it would get trampled and probably not survive in that location. I also pointed out with my limited horticultural wisdom that a single plant would look strange amidst the clusters of tulips, day lilies, and liatris. But she asked me to indulge her because of the plant’s beauty and I did.

That moment of peace in the garden arrived after five days of grief and turmoil. Just five days earlier, my Brie had suffered an attack by a client at work. Working with adolescents who had mental illness and histories of violence, Brie knew this was a risk. But that risk had grown burdensome and she was in the last few days working at the facility. She was taking a new position at a facility that treats a less violent population of mentally ill teenage boys. The client had been agitated all day, but the attack came out of nowhere for Brie. After watching the video tape from the unit, the police described it as “long and brutal”. All I knew was that my daughter has hurt, physically and emotionally. My heart was broken as I felt powerless to help her through the panic attacks and sleep disturbances, the flashbacks and the intrusive memories of the attack that continued to haunt her. All I could do is wrap her in a mother’s love and hope it was enough.

While this week has been painful in ways I cannot begin to describe, it has taught me a great deal. It has reminded me how strong and resilient Brie is, much like the lone columbine flower she insisted I plant. I learned that a mother’s love cannot change everything, but it can provide comfort when walking through dark days. I was also reminded of the strength of my own faith. In the early days after the attack, I was too distraught to pray and feel any real connection to God. But I knew that disconnect from God was temporary and my relationship with him would be restored to our previous closeness. Planting the Easter lily made me reflect on what it means to be “Easter people”, with strong beliefs in the power of redemption and renewal.

I’d like to say that these reflections brought value to Brie’s experience, but I would unlearn it all if I could protect her from that horrific attack. There is no value. However, we always have the potential to find meaning. A daughter’s strength and resilience. A mother’s love. A stubborn, beautiful flower emerging from a winter’s slumber. I guess that is what I have today, so I’ll take it.