“Don’t let Audrey get too much sun,” was the last thought that ran through my head as I backed out of the driveway. Yet somehow, the flood of love and questions from 2 pajama-clad little boys, distracted me from actually voicing my medical directive. By the time I found Audrey, it was almost too late.
Work was hectic and Audrey didn’t cross my mind again until after dinner as my little Turks and I were heading out for our daily football catch. As the door swung open I caught sight of Audrey, slumped over on the deck.
“Audrey!!” I screamed, pushing Nugget out of my way while ordering Number One Son to gather lifesaving materials. “Get the water and an eyedropper! STAT!”
My son, possessing a solid replication of my DNA, especially those genes responsible for over dramatizing the simplest moment (I’m pretty sure most Oscar Award Winners share this gene as well.) screamed back with the appropriate level of panic –“Where Mom! Where’s the damn water?” (Profanity is acceptable in an emergency)
While I barked directions at him, I whisked Audrey into the house and laid her out on the kitchen table. A very confused Nugget, wanting to get in on the action, begged to be given his own lifesaving task. I wanted to scream, “Get a CBC and Chem6. Call for radiation STAT,” but you know, he’s only 3 and he didn’t spend a large chunk of the ‘90’s watching ER so he’d likely have no idea how to preform either a CBC or a Chem6. Instead I sent him to his playroom to grab his doctor kit. A Fisher Price stethoscope had to be just as good in a pinch, right?
Audrey lay on the table with her little arms limply clutching her traps. A few traps were black but most were still green and viable. Audrey wasn’t my first Venus Flytrap, but she was strongest. She’d been doing fine in our kitchen but in a moment of overconfidence, I surmised that her steady diet of fruit flies might be leading to boredom and that she might enjoy the entomological smorgasbord awaiting her on our deck.
It was for her own good and for the first few days I loving watched her, atop the table, soaking up the sun and snapping up buzzing nuisances one by one. I limited her sun-time and brought her in from the rain in an attempt to recreate her natural habitat. (I’m teaching a botany unit right now so I’m way up on my habitat knowledge.) When it seemed Audrey’s development was taking off, I lovingly transplanted her into a fashionable new pot. (Every girl, even one that eats bugs, likes to feel pretty.)
Things were going so well with Audrey that if our life were a movie, we would have had one of those montages where we run hand and trap through a meadow, pausing only to spin in the sun as she snapped at gnats. All was bliss. Until she got fried.
Slowly and methodically I dropped a combination mixture of rainwater cut with distilled water into her high fashion pot as my sons chanted words of encouragement, “Come on Audrey. Come back to us girl.”
When it looked bleak, we decided Audrey would want us to go outside and play football. That’s the kind of gal she was and who were we to deny her wishes?
30 minutes later, I noticed a small jerk from Audrey when I walked by. I thought my eyes had deceived me so I watched longer. Sure enough, Audrey jerked again. “Oh my God you have got to see this!” I yelled from the kitchen but my kids had moved on to ice pops and Monday Night Football and the Turk long ago learned to ignore those kinds of exclamations from my crazed mind.
“No seriously! Come in here. Audrey is coming back to life.” It was truly a sight to behold as her little arms jerked back up to standing.
“Are you still looking at that plant? What is wrong with you.” The Turk yelled from the other room.
“It’s not just a plant! It’s Audrey!”
“I worry your head crazy sometime.” He retorted.
As I watched Audrey continue to come back, I cannot deny that the thought of giving her a chunk of steak or a drop of blood didn’t cross my mind. Thankfully, I was an avid movie watcher as a kid and had seen Little Shop of Horrors multiple times and knew how fast this situation could go south.
By the next morning Audrey was back to her old self, waving her traps at all passersby in search of food. I limited her sun time and put her back in her comfortable kitchen post. It looked like nothing could harm Audrey now…until…
The remission ended. Seemingly out of nowhere, a deep black spread across her little traps like a cancer. I tried medical intervention but nothing worked. I Googled and Googled but even the internet couldn’t save Audrey this time.
When it became clear the end was inevitable, we put her in plant hospice, feeding her bugs we caught when she didn’t have the energy to work her own traps. Last Friday, Audrey passed over the great rainbow bridge to the swamp in the sky.
I’ve thought about replacing her. I’d like to someday have a Venus named Serena (Get it? Venus and Serena…hahaha) but it’s too soon. I need time to grieve. We’ve left her high fashion pot in tact and as soon as it stops raining for a few days, I’ll cremate her in the barbecue grill.
She was a fighter, but even a flytrap knows when the fight is done.
Farewell Audrey, you were a tough broad and we will miss you.