Full Sun. Moderate Water.

I'm standing in front of yet, another plant that needs pruning. Most of the leaves are good. The soil is strong; but its flowers are starting to shrivel.

So I inspect.

I re-read the little plastic tag that comes with the plant to make sure that I've followed the instructions:

Full Sun. Moderate Water. Not for consumption.

Check, check, and check. So why are the flowers starting to shrivel? I delicately start to prune. I'm not very good at this. I've lost many a plant before. So I take the easy route; I only pull away the very yellow leaves that come apart with little effort. If I need to tug -- then I leave it alone.

I have the fica tree watching me. It still hasn't recovered from when I tried to remove a few branches. It's in a state of perma-shock; a full-blown nervosa complete with crimpled leaves. Basically, it's a nervous wreck because of a hack prune job -- and I have no one else to blame but myself.

So, I'm being more careful with this plant. I don't want to add it to my ever-growing plant graveyard (otherwise known as my balcony).

I carefully turn it around. I start to see a pattern. The healthy flowers have stems that are green. The shrivelled flowers have stems that are yellow.

Maybe I've over watered it?

So... I step away for a few days and hope that the situation resolves itself.

When I come back -- the plant is not doing any better. The lack of water has started to wilt the otherwise healthy flowers; while not improving the shrivelled ones. They all seem to be dying. And I don't know what to do. It's obvious that I'm not the best gardiner for this particular plant. Not that I can't garden...I did what I was suppose to. Full sun. Moderate water. No consumption. But maybe this particular plant needed to be sung to? Or maybe it liked to be sprayed with a water bottle every few hours?

The reality is, I have no idea what this plant really needs because it won't tell me. It wants me to figure it out on my own. Or, more accurately, it would rather be with someone that is naturally suited to be its best gardiner. And, as long as it's with me -- it will continue to shrivel and die.

But, I'm not completely aware of this just yet. I think I still have it in my carriage. After all, it's with me right now...

So I start to investigate what flowers could be pruned in order to save this plant from certain death. I look it over...see the waterlodged stems and decide that perhaps if one of those were to go -- that the rest of the plant would bloom healthy again.

Now...it might get a bit messy. The water from the stem might bleed out and infect the rest of the plant -- but it's a price worth paying. I really like this plant; or rather, I really like it when it's healthy; and I want to get it back to that state. That's the state I bought it in. That's the state I want it to be.

So I nervously approach with the scissors. I feel bad. I know this will hurt a little; but I'm only doing what I think I should. I'm only trying to help. If the plant could have told me just exactly what it wanted; we might not be in this situation.

But here we are, at an impass. There's no turning back. It is about to die.

I take the scissors to the bottom of the ugly water-lodged stem, close my eyes and hope for the best.

"Ouch!" he groans, and looks at me angrily. "What the hell are you doing?"

Tears start to form in my eyes out of frustration. I was only trying to help the situation the best way I knew how -- being given very little information; and feeling completely abandoned to fix it on my own.

And now, I've only made it worse.

So, I'm going to stop trying to be something I'm not -- a pruner. A good gardiner. Because I'm starting to understand that some plants just can't survive with certain people; and sometimes its better to let them die and throw them out than to perform painstaking surgery to make it work. Sometimes it's just not meant to be no matter how hard you try.

So the next time I see a plant start to die -- I won't blame myself. I'll try a few things to help -- but if that doesn't work; I'll let it die. Because it is also quite possible that another possibility is just as relevant. It's quite possible that this isn't the best plant for me -- no matter how pretty the flowers bloom when I first meet it.