One of my favorite things about my home office is looking out the window at my flower garden… It makes me smile, especially when everything is blooming. My garden is filled with all kinds of flowering plants from crepe myrtles and angel trumpets to rain lilies and milkweed, and everything in between…. But my yard didn’t always look like this.
When Bruce and I were first married, we were living up north in a condo. He always had a couple of potted plants on the porch during the summer – tomatoes or okra or some such. He always talked about how he used to have a garden and would love to have a regular garden again one day.
I, on the other hand, had never been much of a “plant person”. I grew up around lots of people with green thumbs, but I just never seemed to have a knack for it. It was hot and dirty… No, thank you.
When we started looking for a house down here in Florida, Bruce was so excited about the idea of having a garden again. I was excited for him, but made it quite clear that the yard was his… He could do with it what he wanted. It just wasn’t my passion at all.
When we finally moved into our home, the garden was put on hold until the following year while Bruce fixed up a few other things that were more pressing. He never gave the idea of a garden though… From the day we moved in, he was planning his garden… He knew what he wanted to plant and where it was going.
He never got the chance, though. Bruce passed away in January, before he ever got the chance to place the first plant in the ground.
That first spring after he died, as the weather started warming up, I started looking at the yard and thinking about all the plans Bruce had made. It didn’t take me long, though, to decide what I was going to do. After all, I needed to do something…
I found a checklist in a book of things to do to help me work through my grief… Things to honor Bruce’s memory… And one of those things was to plant a memorial garden. Shoot, I had a whole yard as an empty canvas… A whole yard that I could dig up and plant… A whole yard to help me burn off this ache in my heart… And so, I started…
All I had was a shovel, a rake, and a hand spade, but that didn’t matter. I started digging… Slowly, I built the beds by digging up the grass and hand-turning the dirt. I sifted out the stones and rocks and carefully placed the earthworms back into the freshly turned soil. It took hours on hours, weeks on weeks, and months on months.
Even the neighborhood kids came and lent a hand on occasion. With the normal curiosity of children, they would ask about Bruce. I didn’t mind, though. It gave me a reason to talk about him… and smile.
It took well over a year to get things to a “basic level of done”, but as any gardener will tell you, no garden is ever really “done”. Over the years, I have added, moved, or gotten rid of plants here or there but that same basic garden is still there… smiling back at me.
Most of the plants have some type of connection to Bruce or our family. For example, I have a couple of shrimp plants since he loved shrimp. I also have five angel trumpets – one for each of my children. Oh, and the muscadine grapes because it smells like my grandmother’s back yard used to smell. I don’t want to bore you by explaining each and every plant’s meaning to me, but you get the idea. Each plant is personal to me… each one means something to me so that when I look at them or touch them, I smile.
It’s odd, but as much as I thought I hated yard work, this labor of love changed all that. I found myself spending hours in the yard every single weekend… Until I couldn’t. The year I spent fighting cancer, I had to hire someone to take care of the yard. As I have moved into the recovery stage, I’ve been able to work in the yard a little bit here and there, but I still can’t do it for hours. I wish I could, though… I actually miss it.
Today was sad, though. I came home to find most of my rain lilies pulled out. Someone, who meant well, thought it would “look better” and removed them. “It’s just lilies,” they said when they saw my tears. I know that. (I really do.) They kept saying it isn’t a big deal… But that’s just it. It is a big deal… to me. The rain lilies, I think, are some of my favorites. You see, they bloom after the rain… kind of like me learning to smile again after all the grief… Like I said, each plant is personal to me. **
I know the day will come when I no longer live here. I am sure someone else will come along and remove and replant and redo each and every garden bed. (And they should.) But for right now, this garden reminds me that I can do this. I can keep moving forward. This idea from a book that started as a “grief garden”… as a memorial to Bruce… has become a source of joy for me. I love sitting on the porch or looking out the windows and simply feeling joy. I love this space that can make me smile simply by existing… and that’s pretty special.
** For the record, this is all being made right… an honest mistake made with the best of intentions.
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This journey isn’t easy… not that you need me to tell you that. Loss can be traumatic, and the grief we are left to figure out is hard. Thankfully, though, there are moments and actions we can take to refresh our souls – Moments where I learn a little bit more about faith, life, and love.
As the years pass, I can honestly say that there are more of these good moments than bad. Each day, I continue to learn more and more about those things that seem to help me heal and move forward – like sharing precious memories. So, I will continue to allow myself the space I need to heal and process this life without my love… without Bruce. Thankfully, at this point in my journey, I am learning that I am not alone – thanks to you!
In fact, none of us need to be alone, because we have each other. It is our love for those we have lost that brings us together into this space where we can share our experiences. I believe the sharing of our stories is so important… I believe it is healing and helps us to process that avalanche of emotions that grief brings us. Do you have a story to tell? I believe we can find courage and strength in one another’s stories. I believe we can offer each other empathy when we open our hearts to one another. I don’t know about you, but it makes me feel better knowing there are others out there who understand what I mean, and what I feel. It’s nice to know I’m not alone… Maybe this strikes a chord with you too. We would all love to hear your thoughts or your story. If you would like to share your experience or if you need a helping hand or maybe a virtual hug, let us know. We are here for you.
Please do… This is our community. To share your thoughts and experiences go to the comments and leave your message.*