In 2023 we learned that my father’s kidneys were failing. Early this year, on January 30, I learned that I was going to be a grandmother. Since then, my life teetered between glee and despair, hope and desperation, sadness and joy. One would be born, the other would die. For almost a year, the two events unfolded in tandem and the parallels between them were uncanny. My grandson was born on September 30 and my dad died on December 6. They existed in the same world for 62 days. My grandson, my father. One came, one went. Both, Maryam’s son.

Gardening holds a special place in my heart. The spaces I inhabit are never without houseplants. I’m constantly amazed by how these plants, though confined to pots in enclosed interiors, would grow to immense sizes in their native environments—sometimes large enough to dwarf homes. This contrast makes me reflect on how space influences our own growth and the decisions we make. Indoor gardening, for me, has become a way of inviting nature into our homes, an ongoing dialogue between the organic and the inanimate, unfolding within the limitations of interior space.