Here’s to the Amaryllis, Healer of Hearts

Each Christmas, my mother and later my sister would gift family members an amaryllis plant. Now that they are both gone, I’m continuing the tradition in remembrance

Steven Petrow,

AARP

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Published December 22, 2025

an illustration shows various amaryllis plants in bloom

The name for amaryllis, a popular holiday plant, is derived from the Greek word meaning “to sparkle.”

Molly Snee

For many years, like clockwork, my mother would send amaryllis bulbs to my sister, my brother and me for Christmas. When mine arrived — a muddy brown bulb in dark brown dirt in a green nursery pot — I knew the holidays couldn’t be far off. I also knew that in four to eight weeks, the showiest of blossoms would burst forth, a riot of color emerging from the brown soil.

After years of giving me sweaters that didn’t fit or sheets that rubbed me the wrong way (no more polyester, please, Mom!), my mother had finally come up with the perfect gift idea: an amaryllis.

It’s well known in my family that I was born without a green thumb, making the gift of a plant a true act of faith. Need evidence of my paucity of gardening skills? One year, to jump-start the bulb to bloom in time for my holiday party, I took a hair dryer to the furled trumpets.

a photo shows an amaryllis plant in bloom. the author’s sister, Julie, gifted it to him 2019

The author’s sister, Julie, gifted this amaryllis to him in 2019, continuing a family tradition started by their mother.

Courtesy Steven Petrow

Genius, I thought. But my efforts only dried out the root system and shriveled the stalk into a waif. Undefeated, that year’s amaryllis —resilient and hardy as they are — blossomed into an eye-catching spectacle in its own good time.

The amaryllis, whose name is derived from the Greek amarysso, meaning "to sparkle," has taken on new significance for me over the past few years. Our mother died in early 2017, which might have put an end to our family tradition but for how that year unfolded. Later that year, my sister learned she had advanced ovarian cancer, undergoing a debilitating surgery.

Author Steven Petrow and his sister Julie are shown in a 2022 photo

Author Steven Petrow and his sister attended her daughter’s graduation in 2022.

Courtesy Steven Petrow

When friends wondered how they could support her, Julie asked them to send an amaryllis plant, explaining, “I wanted to be surrounded by beauty and feel closer to my mom.”

Those bulbs — she received more than a dozen! — became my sister’s “little oasis of beauty and comfort” that first winter of her illness. They were the joy in the darkness, the light that we craved, to paraphrase Angela Moreno’s poem Amaryllis.

For her remaining time, Julie sent these dramatic queens each November to everyone in our immediate family, including my brother and his wife in Connecticut, a sister-in-law in Florida, a niece in Chicago and me in North Carolina.

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When she asked me what variety I’d like, I told her, “Surprise me!”

I actually loved not knowing whether it would be Royal Velvet (“the undisputed queen,” according to one website) or Flamingo Amadeus (“striking salmon-pink double blooms”), even ignoring the plastic tag stuck in the dirt that would have revealed the secret.

No, I was happy to wait until the bulb blossomed, and to witness its unfolding joy in real time.

I loved Julie’s gift card almost as much: “To Steven. Love, Julie (and Mom).”

On what turned out to be her last Christmas, Julie ordered four amaryllises for herself, caring for each as if it were another of her daughters. She made sure they got morning sun and watered them just the right amount each week (no hair dryer needed).

Author Steven Petrow’s sister Julie is shown with her collection of amaryllis plants in a 2021 photo

Julie posed with her collection of amaryllis plants in 2021.

Courtesy Maddy Petrow-Cohen

She instructed her eldest daughter how to carry on this care routine. The kitchen table had become an amaryllis farm, a kaleidoscope of deep crimson, candy cane red, soft pink and white.

Like my mother and my sister, I now make it my practice to gift an amaryllis to everyone in our family, plus Julie’s dearest friends and several of mine. I’ve just finished ordering 18 amaryllis bulbs of several varieties, writing short notes attached to each, like this one to my New York nieces:

“Happy Christmas from Julie (in heaven) and me (in Hillsborough).”

Julie gifted this amaryllis to Steven in 2022, her last Christmas.

Courtesy Steven Petrow

I, too, am the recipient of many amaryllis gifts, and now know the basics of how to make them thrive. Plant in a 6- to 8-inch pot, leaving the top third of the bulb exposed. Place them in a warm spot (direct sun or on top of the fridge) to arouse their growth. Water sparingly, until you see about 2 inches of growth, and then water every week.

In Greek mythology, it was Amaryllis, a nymph, who shed her own blood to prove her love to the handsome but coldhearted Alteo.

In the end, she wins his affection as her own heart is healed.

Each year at this time, on the darkest of days as I think about my mother and sister, I watch my amaryllis reach for the light and feel that my heart is healing just a bit more.

AARP essays share a point of view in the author’s voice, drawn from expertise or experience, and do not necessarily reflect the views of AARP.

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Steven Petrow is a longtime contributor to The Washington Post and The New York Times. His most recent book, The Joy You Make, is published by Maria Shriver’s imprint, The Open Field.