It's all Grandma's fault

Confession: I still water my dead plants.

Sometimes it's hard to accept that something is gone, really gone, but it's a fact of life-things die.
My grandmother passed down quite a few genes -very strong genes- one of them being her Black Thumb. Though I have not killed as many plants as she has, nor with circumstances quite as mysterious, I have debilitated and obliterated my share of flora. Where my grandmother claims her plants just up and die with no provocation but the knowledge of her presence, I believe I can trace a majority of the circumstances under which my houseplants have passed from this world.

Take my Venus Fly Trap for example. I followed all the instructions provided; I watered him regularly, and when he did not get enough flies (spiders are the bugs of choice in our house) I supplied raw ground beef-which the good plant refused. But nourishment was only a surface explanation. About five weeks after I carefully potted him and placed him by the window my poor Venus Fly Trap languished and died. His COD? He suffered from lead poisoning.

Next in line on my horticultural death row was the miniature Sago Palm, fondly known as Sago. Sago was an interesting fellow, he asked for desert-like care and then complained of thirst. After vacillating between dry heat and plenty of water with lots of humidity poor Sago's nerves failed him and his one remaining frond turned crispy. The Sago Situation, however, should be looked on in a positive light as I have found numerous sources proclaiming the poisonous nature of the plant. My sister did eat a Wandering Jew, after all.
[the plant not the man, and she was only 10 months old]

The miniature rose bush is a bit of a mystery to me, though my suspicion points toward root rot. When I remove the dead plant from its container I'll have a better idea, but for now I just keep watering it in vain hope that it will resurrect itself like a stubborn marigold.

The final, and most deeply mourned, death is that of Henry Benjamin. Henry Benjamin was a unique plant, he was dramatically expressive and very helpful in reminding me to tend to the rest of the plants (though he viewed them all as rather inferior). When the plants became thirsty Henry Benjamin would intercede for them, wilting and drooping all of his leaves to the point where he was actually laying across the shelf like a swooning lady (such a drama queen). When his antics got my attention and I watered the plants he would promptly stand back up again in a matter of minutes. Though he was a bit vain, Henry Benjamin really was a beautiful plant. Unfortunately after one of his dramatic fits he never stood back up again.

I am beginning to wonder how healthy it is for my two living plants to be surrounded by so much death. The African Violet is beginning to look a bit peaked (though he's a hardy little thing), and my miniature Money Tree has only retained one of the three braided trunks he started out with. Once I removed the two dead siblings the tree perked right up and continued to grow, so perhaps the rest would thrive better if I removed Sago and the rose bush from the shelf.
[As for the Venus Fly Trap, he was discarded so that I could use his lead-crystal bowl elsewhere and Henry Benjamin rests in his pot in a box in the closet].

But as for my mortal attentions I feel no guilt, I know that one day I may understand their nature a little better, and if not, well, it truly is all my grandmother's fault.