The incredibly personal journey through grief has at times been isolating and overwhelming. The loss of a loved one while going through life-changing events left me feeling lost, with emotions too heavy to bear. Overwhelmed, the quiet spaces at Winterpast have become my gentle place to heal.
In 2020, HHH and I lost our spouses. Married to high school friends, we’d enjoyed marriage for a combined total of 50 years. We were both blessed with happy, fulfilling relationships while married to our best friends. When they died, grief could have devoured us, if not for our respective gardens.
Gardening has offered profound comfort to HHH and I during such difficult times. There’s something inherently therapeutic about the act of planting seeds, nurturing growth, and watching life bloom. When the world felt sorrowful, the process of gardening provided an anchor and opportunity for reflection, connection, and a sense of peace.
Gardening grounded us. Whether digging in the soil or simply tending to a small patch of flowers, the earth drew us back to the present moment. Grief often pulled me into a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, many of which felt out of my control. Gardening was an invitation to slow down and connect with nature, while focusing on something requiring patience and care.
The tactile experience of touching the earth, feeling the texture of the soil, and planting seeds offered a simple, calming rhythm that was soothing. In the moment there was no pressure to figure everything out. Nature doesn’t rush because growth takes time, just as emotional healing does.
In 2020, my world stopped, while life at Winterpast continued. Planting seeds is an act of faith while believing that something new will grow, even when the ground feels barren. As the days pass and shoots of green appear, a beautiful metaphor appears, mirroring healing happening in small and imperceptible steps. And so it was for me.
I adore the quiet of a garden, where there’s space to reflect, feel, and express. Grief was often accompanied by a flood of emotions hard to articulate. While tending to plants, I found a place of solitude where these emotions flowed freely without judgment. During the quiet days of Covid, my shattered heart began to mend as the seasons came and went. Over time, the garden itself becomes a reflection of the strength and resilience I carried within, even when the devastation of cancer left me broken.
Although HHH and I will never “get over” our grief, we ARE healing “through” it. Time has helped new love flourish. Together, we’ve found ways to nurture and comfort each other. Gardening offers just that—a gentle, therapeutic way to connect with nature, express our feelings, and witness the quiet miracle of growth while finding our way towards new life. As two grieving gardeners are blessed in so many ways.
