My mom is a Master Gardener. Truly. She took the course. I . . . Well, I am not. Even though I do nothing to encourage their growth, darling little bloodroot pop up in my sorry excuse for a flower bed around this time each year. I didn’t plant them; they came with the house. I’d like to think they were here before the house. They are, after all, wild flowers and other wild flowers grow in the same spot.

However it happened, whatever the timeline, I love these little flowers. A strong breeze can take their petals, but those same flowers can push up through snow, bloom when it’s still cold out, and survive my ineptitude.

They don’t look strong and if you ask the wind, they aren’t. Their petals are short lived. Beautiful, but brief.

The thing is, every year brings more bloodroot than the last. When the delicate petals fall, the leaves open and get to work.

We’ve all lost some petals in the past two weeks, and more petals are bound to fall. College students are finishing their semester online. Internships are delayed. High school seniors are missing out on the magical lasts that spring of senior year should hold. Winter sports ended without a state tournament and spring sports are on hold. The stage stands silent, awaiting its players. Our collective invincibility is gone. So many petals littering the ground.

But our leaves will open and make us stronger. Our leaves will prepare us for the next round. Our petals are lost for now, but just as the bloodroot—briefly, painfully beautiful—returns stronger and more beautiful each year, so will we.

Nobody knows what to expect. We don’t have a timeline, and the possibilities are terrifying. We may never quite get back what’s been lost, but we can survive. We can survive and grow stronger.

So admire the beautiful petals. Marvel at the tenacity of a tiny flower. Photograph those wispy white delights before the wind blows them to the ground. Then, respect the leaves and let them do their work.

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