11/09/2025
My husband said I was crazy. "Linda, nobody plants 3,000 gladiolus bulbs after chemo." But there I was, bald as an egg under my garden hat, digging holes like my life depended on it. Because maybe it did.
The cancer took my hair, my energy, and nearly my hope. But it couldn't take my stubbornness. Every bulb I planted was a promise - I'd be here to see them bloom.
That's when Max came into my life. The shelter worker had warned me he was "unadoptable." Eight years old, abandoned twice, scared of everything. "He just sits there with that pacifier," she said. "Found it somewhere and won't let go. It's... weird."
I knew that feeling. After my diagnosis and my husband leaving because he "couldn't handle a sick wife," I was holding onto my gardening gloves like they were a lifeline. We were perfect for each other - two broken souls who needed something to believe in.
Found myself scrolling through gardening groups on Tedooo app at 3 AM, when sleep wouldn't come. One woman posted about growing gladiolus from grief - she'd planted a whole field after losing her daughter. Ordered bulbs from her small farm right there on the app. She threw in extras and a note: "Plant these deep. They'll need strong roots for what's coming."
By spring, magic happened. Max finally let go of his pacifier to help me harvest. Started simple - bouquets from my driveway. But other gardeners on Tedooo app kept asking about my growing methods, my color combinations. Ended up teaching workshops in my field, selling bulbs and dried arrangements through my shop there.
Now Max patrols our rows like he's protecting something sacred. Maybe he is.
They told me I had six months. That was three years ago.