Not a day goes by in this city without someone arriving at a hospital carrying a plant as way to show they care. Some plants leave with the patient. Some get thrown out.

This one stayed.

To find it, wind through a series of hallways and take the elevator up to 5W, the oncology wing at Providence St. Vincent Medical Center. The plant, a spindly palm about 3 feet tall, is in the corner of a small room used by families who need a place to reflect on the journey of those they love.

Long ago, a woman dropped the plant off on 5W.

And there it grew.

For 21 years.

It may seem frivolous to write about a potted plant. But the story is a parable, a gentle reminder of what makes us human: compassion, memory and soul.

***

In the early 1990s, Kitty Cannan, a nurse in Buffalo, New York, moved to Portland after a divorce. She wanted to be closer to her extended family. St. Vincent hired her and Cannan requested a post in oncology because she believes God directed her to work with those who find themselves on that wing.

Now 67, Cannan has witnessed thousands of people struggling with brutal medical information, discovering in that moment and those that follow what truly matters in a life and what to let go. Being part of that intimate process, she believes, honors her sense of spirituality and allows her to help others.

Shortly after Cannan started at St. Vincent, a 70-year-old woman arrived on the wing. Elsie Lowy had an advanced case of leukemia. Cannan took care of her.

Lowy, born and raised in New York City, and Cannan shared stories of their lives.

Even in the midst of grueling treatments that left her exhausted, Lowy told Cannan not to work too hard and to spend time with her two sons. Cannan brought a day bed into the room so Lowy's daughter, Jody Heaton, could sleep by her mother's side.

"I was scared and depressed," Heaton said. "Then Kitty would come in. I'll never forget her looking into my mom's eyes and listening to her. She'd sit on my mom's bed and talk with her and hold her hand."

After two months, the doctors said the leukemia seemed to be in remission and it was fine for Lowy to leave, though she'd have to come in weekly for exams. Lowy used the time to attend her daughter's wedding and later to be in the delivery room when her grandson was born.

But soon, she was back on the oncology wing and under the care of Cannan. Lowy worried about ending treatment. Heaton saw her mother suffering.

Cannan helped them prepare for what was next. Comforting the two was one of the most rewarding times in her career and she remembered their strength later when her own parents passed away.

Heaton took her mother home to die.

Afterward, Heaton thought about the life her mother had led, a single parent who raised her showing what it meant to be a confident and independent woman.

Then she thought about the nurse.

One day, she went to a florist and brought a small plant to give to Cannan. She took the elevator to the oncology wing and walked the hall until she found Cannan.

"I told Kitty my mother had died," Heaton said. "I thanked her and gave her the plant. I hugged her, then I turned around and left the hospital."

***

After a few days, Cannan wasn't sure what to do with the plant.

Throw it out?

She couldn't.

Looking at the plant made her remember the Florence Nightingale Pledge. The oath she'd taken when she first became a nurse speaks to the profession's ethics and principles. Back then, Cannan had promised to devote herself to the welfare of those in her care, committed to always be present in the moment.

The oncology wing, like most places in a hospital is rooted in science and fact. What the X-rays reveal, what the tests prove, what the blood count signifies. Cannan understood the certainty of that world and was good at being a part of it.

But this small plant reached deep into her heart. She took it into the family room for patients, and for the next two decades she cared for it, clipping leaves and branches, repotting it as it grew.

"Every time I watered that plant I remembered the love Jody and her mother had," Cannan said. "I remembered the courage of Elsie in saying it was time to end treatment and the courage of Jody to accept this and go on with only the memory of her mother's love."

In early March, it was time for Cannan, now the unit's charge nurse, to get ready to retire. She finished her paperwork, tied up loose ends and began giving her supervisory responsibilities to others.

She had one last task.

What to do with the palm?

Cannan planned to downsize and travel, and there was no room in her home for the plant.

So much time had passed, few people knew what the plant represented. Cannan worried that it would eventually die in the family room with no one to look after it.

She asked a young nurse if she'd like to take the plant to her home. The nurse agreed.

***

Jody Heaton, now 57, recently decided to become a hospice volunteer. In that role, she would spend time in a hospital sitting with dying patients while nurses took care of their medical needs. She completed a 32-hour training and orientation program and was sent to St Vincent to get her name badge.

"It was the first time I'd been back since my mother died," she said. "It brought back a lot of memories."

Heaton knew she couldn't leave that day without making one more stop.

"I was a little hesitant," she said. "But enough time had passed. I needed to go up, just for a few seconds to remember."

She stepped off the elevator, saw the corridor of the oncology wing and turned to get back in the elevator.

"Can I help you?"

Heaton turned.

"Kitty?"

"Jody?"

***

Cannan said she was retiring March 21. Jody said that was her birthday, she'd turn 58. Cannan invited her to attend the party on 5W. Jody said she'd be there.

There was, of course, one final piece of business.

"She led me to this room," Heaton said. "She showed me my plant."

"I had no words," Heaton said. "I was in tears."

Cannan said another nurse planned to take it but Heaton could have it back if she wanted. Heaton said it felt right to have the plant go home with a nurse.

The retirement ceremony this past Wednesday was just the way Cannan wanted it: No fuss, to the point and back to work.

Friends and co-workers brought gifts.

As did Cannan.

Knowing she'd see Heaton one last time, Cannan had taken a cutting from the plant and put it in water in her home. The two branches were growing roots.

Once she had been given a plant by the daughter of a patient.

And now she was giving part of it back.

The branches were in a small vase.

They're now in Heaton's home, in a kitchen window facing the sun, getting stronger and more full of life with each passing day.

--Tom Hallman Jr.

thallman@oregonian.com; 503 221-8224

@thallmanjr