“White camellias, winter blooms
When summer comes I will think of you”
--“Sorrowfree,” Kate Campbell
Dear Thi,
Last summer, your father and I meandered around the garden
section of Home Depot when I decided I wanted to plant a camellia in your
honor, so that I would have something living to tend to and keep at home when I
couldn’t visit your gravesite. We planted the camellia in a faux wood barrel,
and over the winter that just passed, the leaves became droopy and sparse.
I
was worried that something we intended to commemorate you would grow sick and
die, but your father fed it with fertilizer stakes, coffee grounds, corn husks,
and egg shells, replenishing the soil with magnesium and nutrients. Early this
spring at the beginning of February, the camellia bloomed for the first time,
showcasing a delicately soft swirl of dark pink petals.
The leaves became dark
green and glossy. Every morning, I would defrost a bag of frozen breastmilk in
a large cup of water for Dannica to start her day, and I’d take out the cup to
water the camellia afterward. It made me part-believe that I was feeding you as
well.
Around this time, I was in conversation with a new Technical
Publications manager at a company called Rivian. I had started to get back into
the swing of work at Byton after my maternity leave with Dannica. There were
some exciting projects rolling out and a slightly different team dynamic to get
used to as old team members shifted to different companies and new team members
on-boarded. I had missed the camaraderie with my colleagues. I wasn’t looking
for a new job since my days already felt so full with work, pumping milk, meal-planning
for the family, and cooking purees for Dannica as she started solids. I thought
I’d entertain the interview process to keep my skills sharp, and a sense of
curiosity also compelled me to meet the people who work for Rivian. After a
round of phone interviews, I was invited onsite.
The Rivian office in San Jose is located closer to home, on
an industrial street lined with many other companies. It has the feel of
dot-com San Jose before the big bust, as companies clamored for real estate to
draw workers to the ever-busy and dynamic Silicon Valley with its promises of
dreams of making it big. Rivian sat at the center of a bunch of complexes, a
bit tucked away and more difficult to find. As I neared the front door of the building,
I was surprised to see a tiny camellia bush with similar dark-pink blooms like
the one I had planted for you.
A strange hunch washed over me, the same one I had
when I scoped out the Lam Research facility, my first real job outside of
college and my entry into a corporate, technical writing career. As soon as I
saw Lam’s triangular logo that made me think of a mountain with horizontal
slashes raked into its side, I had a feeling I’d get hired even before I
interviewed.
In this way, this tiny, innocuous, seemingly neglected
little camellia bush was placed perfectly for me, like a sign to embark on my
next professional adventure. It was an interesting time for a job change in
general since everyone had started to shelter in place (SIP) in mid-March for
the Coronavirus pandemic, and it felt especially risky since your father was also
ending his employment at Satellite Health Care to start at TriNet. As we took
family walks to stretch our legs during SIP, I noticed camellias in bloom across
the neighborhood, jade leaves glossy against the sun, clusters of pink and
red flowers thickly coloring the bushes. They, and you, are everywhere,
following me along my journey, reassuring me that things would be ok.
So, past
the interview conversations and strategic business moves, I based a major
career decision on a hunch, a gut feeling, a sign. I know it sounds
superstitious to base things on a sign, me being such a fundamental believer of
science and logic. But taking the new job opportunity turned out to be right in
more ways than one. It has given me a fresh adventure, change, and the chance
to meet amazing new people while continuing to financially support my family
and enriching my knowledge in the technical writing trade.
Dear Thi, I used to be so afraid of changes; something like
signing on for a new job kept me awake for nights on end. The last time I did
this, I had just lost you, and subsequently decided to leave my job of a dozen
years. I had survived the pain of your loss; not much else could hurt me more.
That turned out to be a wonderful opportunity, a fun ride. It was equally strange
that the offer presented itself to me when I was not even looking, whereas in
the past, I had job-hunted in earnest, but with no leads. I can’t help but feel
like you are this higher being watching out for me, taking care of me as I
would have done for you, guiding me to paths that hold my best interest.
It is May 13th, the week after Mother’s Day
weekend, the day you would have been due. You would have turned two years old. I
think of you especially today, and hold you in my heart always. I am entering
my third month of working from home, and I now sit at the dining room table, gazing
out the window where the spring-green camellia leaves are peeking through. It uncharacteristically rained this mid-May, and this evening, we are gifted with a double rainbow, followed by a brilliant sunset that shaded the clouds a blushing pink.
As I step outside to enjoy the remnants of the day, I have a strong feeling, an intuition, that you've come on your would've-been birthday to visit me.
Thanks for watching out for Mama, Baby Girl. I see you, too.
