We have a small grove of blueberry bushes in our yard that delight us every spring with delicious blue pearls of flavor. I have tried to take good care of them, but I don’t always remember when to fertilize and prune, so they probably qualify as “survivor” bushes. Tough, resilient and somewhat self-reliant.

Earlier this year, the leaves on one of our oldest bushes turned a strange color, but the branches still seemed healthy, so I didn’t think much of it. It’s the tallest bush in the group and it stands in the center of the little grove, like a sentinel – exhibiting to the smaller bushes what’s possible.

Last month, when the rest of the bushes started sprouting blossoms, the branches of my tall sentinel were barren. Then the discolored leaves fell off.

Unwilling to accept the obvious, I convinced myself the bush would bounce back and just have a late blooming season. It’s a perennial after all – and a central pillar in the garden. It had to come back.

All of the bushes are now laden with ripening fruit – but the matriarch stands tall and bare. I don’t think there is any hope of a rebound, but I am not ready to remove it yet. Rationally, I know this is how nature works. Plants can thrive for years under all types of conditions and then sometimes they don’t come back.

I don’t know what caused my oldest bush to wither, but the others around her seem to be rallying in her honor. The cycle of life and death plays out on a colorful stage every day in my backyard, but that doesn’t diminish the sadness I feel over the loss of a bush that has nourished us for so many years.

My stepmother Joan is dying. She turned 95 this past January, so I know I should be more accepting of this reality – but she seemed fine just a few weeks ago. She hasn’t been diagnosed with a terminal medical condition or disease. In fact, I don’t what happened to her; she just seems to have decided that she is finished with this life. She is refusing to eat and doesn’t even want to get out of bed anymore. She has lost interest in the things that used to fill her days. She just wants to sleep.

Panicked at first, I tried to convince her she could make a comeback. I thought I could help her find some hidden reserve of energy and resolve and return to her normal self. But with each conversation, there was less of her remaining. Her leaves were falling off, her root stock was drying up – and she wasn’t fighting the process. She was ready.

Joan has borne fruit for our family for 40 years, courageously stepping into the role of stepmother to me and my seven brothers and sisters when our dad remarried after our biological mother was stolen from us by cancer. She has outlived my dad. She has outlived my beautiful sister Jean, my amazing brother-in-law John and four of my sweet nephews. She is ready to go.

At the same time my stepmom began to decline, we learned my sister’s daughter Melanie is pregnant. This will be my sister Anne’s first grandchild, so as a family, we are celebrating and grieving at the same time. My stepmom is saying goodbye and we are preparing to welcome a precious new life.

In my garden, I am harvesting and uprooting at the same time. I have accepted that my tall and stately blueberry bush will not come back. I am thankful for the blueberries I will soon be able to pick and enjoy.

It is a time for everything.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-9