Peculiar. Prophecy?

This glorious spirea is Tom.  Say hello to Tom.

I've been taking care of Tom since our eighth grade field trip to the career center, where I signed up to preview the horticulture program.  Even at age 13, I was a little gardener.

His companion, Virgil, lived four or five years before meeting his untimely demise thanks to the crazy radiators in Collins Hall.  Virgil's final resting place is under a bridge in Marcum Woods.  

Tom's been going strong for nearly two decades.  Until now.  His furthermost extremities started dropping leaves about two weeks ago.  I gave him some TLC but it hasn't been enough.  Now two more of his palmy heads are drooping.  I did an emergency surgery on him today, removing one of the two branches that come off the main trunk.  I hope this will keep him alive.  Meanwhile, I took  what I could of the removed branch and am going to try to propagate some Tommy babies.  I don't have any rooting hormone, though, so we'll see what happens.  I hope he lives because I've had him so long.  If not, that's okay.  He has gotten rather leggy and unsightly.  Maybe it's time to let him go.  But there's something about this plan that reminds me I know myself.  I've known myself since middle school when I ditched my friends and all the people who signed up for programs based on where their bffs were going to do what mattered to me.  The other program was something in design or engineering.  I don't remember exactly other than that it involved working with tools and solving some kind of design puzzle with washers and screws.  There is something about knowing that you know how to be true to yourself that is empowering.

No use in pretending.