On Gardening and Grief
Tonight I had some time to myself, a novel thing, in these novel times. I went out to my garden to weed my strawberries before they really take off. As I was out there, I began to think and remember where I was a year ago, two years ago, and even three years ago. We are now close enough to June that I am saying that my husband died almost three years ago.
I have been a widow for almost three years. That honestly feels surreal. It feels simultaneously like a year ago, and a lifetime ago that happened. But it happened and the garden has been tied to the process of healing and growth as I have gone through those years.
The first year the garden became my anger management tool. I would just rip the heck out of those weeds, and take all of my frustration and anger out on the dirt and weeds. I would listen to music, rip out weeds, and cry.
The second year my garden became my escape from reality. I could leave my house, and mourn all I lost, alone in my garden. Weed pulling and the process of making things grow brought me peace and a bit of therapy away from all the things I "should" be doing. It was a place I could be alone and think.
The third summer my garden became my run away. I went there to run away from life and run away from loneliness. I ran from my empty house and empty bed and empty heart. I ran from all of the what ifs. I ran and ran and ran last summer, because I was afraid if I stopped, I might not be able to get back up.
I loved my garden before Justin died, but now it feels like an old friend. One who has been there all along, listening to my hurts, catching my tears, and helping me heal. I like to get my hands and pretty much everything else dirty. I love the joy of picking things that I grew that are ready to eat.
So, what does the fourth year in my garden and in my grief look like? I hope it looks happier and healthier. I plan to plant some new things this year like hope, change, love, and some vegetables too. I hope there are less tears in the garden this year.
Sometimes when we are in the middle of a weedy messy garden it can feel overwhelming. It can feel like it will never get better, or easier, but it does. Little by little you will see the progress and the change. It just takes time, water, patience and lots of sunshine. The tears are okay too.
I have been a widow for almost three years. That honestly feels surreal. It feels simultaneously like a year ago, and a lifetime ago that happened. But it happened and the garden has been tied to the process of healing and growth as I have gone through those years.
The first year the garden became my anger management tool. I would just rip the heck out of those weeds, and take all of my frustration and anger out on the dirt and weeds. I would listen to music, rip out weeds, and cry.
The second year my garden became my escape from reality. I could leave my house, and mourn all I lost, alone in my garden. Weed pulling and the process of making things grow brought me peace and a bit of therapy away from all the things I "should" be doing. It was a place I could be alone and think.
The third summer my garden became my run away. I went there to run away from life and run away from loneliness. I ran from my empty house and empty bed and empty heart. I ran from all of the what ifs. I ran and ran and ran last summer, because I was afraid if I stopped, I might not be able to get back up.
I loved my garden before Justin died, but now it feels like an old friend. One who has been there all along, listening to my hurts, catching my tears, and helping me heal. I like to get my hands and pretty much everything else dirty. I love the joy of picking things that I grew that are ready to eat.
So, what does the fourth year in my garden and in my grief look like? I hope it looks happier and healthier. I plan to plant some new things this year like hope, change, love, and some vegetables too. I hope there are less tears in the garden this year.
Sometimes when we are in the middle of a weedy messy garden it can feel overwhelming. It can feel like it will never get better, or easier, but it does. Little by little you will see the progress and the change. It just takes time, water, patience and lots of sunshine. The tears are okay too.
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