Additional Coverage:
- I’ve kept these dead, dusty flowers from my grandmother for nearly a decade. I should have thrown them out years ago, but can’t. (businessinsider.com)
For nearly a decade, a dusty, dried bouquet of proteas has held a place of honor in Shea Karssing’s home. A memento from her grandmother, Ganna, the flowers represent a bond that transcends logic and practicality.
Karssing, a self-proclaimed declutterer who prioritizes efficiency, admits the sentimental keepsake is an anomaly. “I’m the person who replaced an oven and a four-slot toaster with an air fryer to save three minutes and twelve inches of counter space,” she laughs. Yet, these brittle, brown flowers have survived three moves, carefully cradled on Karssing’s lap during long car rides to prevent breakage.
The proteas were a gift from Ganna when Karssing and her husband moved into their first apartment together. The vibrant blooms, South Africa’s national flower, symbolized a new beginning. Later that year, Karssing sat by her grandmother’s side as she passed away.
The flowers, now faded and fragile, serve as a tangible link to Ganna’s memory. Karssing recalls her grandmother’s generous spirit, a woman who filled cupboards with repurposed containers and milkshakes with overflowing scoops of ice cream.
Ganna’s love was a force of nature, always “more,” always overflowing. Even in her final days, her concern was for others, requesting roses for a recently deceased friend.
The proteas, in their quiet persistence, echo Ganna’s boundless love. They defy Karssing’s minimalist tendencies, reminding her that some things are more valuable than practicality. They are a testament to a love that doesn’t care about logic, a love that blooms even in the face of loss.