After my mother suffered from Alzheimer's disease（阿尔茨海默病）, the plants in our house began to die. In years past, I remember the deep, earthy smell that would 1 in our house after my mother had made her weekly watering rounds. Back then, I never connected it with the care that was at the 2 of everything she did.
But now, leaves were 3 , some dry and edged with brown, and many of the stems（茎） bare. It was a mark of how my mother can no longer attend to all the things that she lovingly cared for. I was so focused on the increasing 4 of her own care that her beloved plants had escaped my 5 .
I began her old rounds, pouring water into the thirsty soil, and soon the plants 6 . That's the thing about houseplants: They demand nothing. They wait quietly, no matter how 7 they are. But even after my best 8 , some of the plants couldn't survive. My mother's kind caregivers have since brought new ones to add to her 9 , and my father buys fresh flowers every week.
Though Alzheimer's disease 10 so much of her memory, her desire to care is still there. I would guide her down the steps to water the plants herself. I watched as her shaking hands picked the brown leaves. Each time, she smiled up at me with 11 satisfaction because being able to 12 something is still, what brings her the greatest joy.
I look at plants 13 these days. I see them as my mother does:14 reminders of the need for kindness toward all living things. It is clear to me that the things we spend a lifetime 15 are never truly lost and the love she has planted in me still blooms（开花）.
