Dear Almut, and all, And behind that story is a host of those who helped it come into being. The farm family who first built the house that hosted, a century later, the small garden of memory. And those who built the garden tools, and who built the second house, and later residents who scattered ferns around the margins of the back yard that we moved to build the second memory garden. And in front it will be (and are) the echoes through the lives of others in the future. A host of witnesses.
Almut, I can’t begin to say how profound and intimate your words were for me.
Your metaphors were so touching and gentle, soft and lovely. Allowing yourself and those who read this to name the loss, the grief, the burying, both literal and figurative. My mother lost two pregnancies, one before my birth and one after. I was 4 years old and remember when my parents told my sisters and I that my mom was gonna have a baby. And I remember saying I’m gonna take care of you mommy and I went over and put her legs up on the ottoman. I can see it clearly in my mind‘s eye. So I must’ve already known that she had lost a baby before me. I’ve had a niece and sister-in-law who also experienced this. Beautiful words and a blessing. With gratitude for your loving words and care of your daughter’s insights. Ah, the wisdom of children. Peace to your heart.
Cindy, what a memory your inner garden holds. Your 4 year old self, already caring, already understanding, that is a beautiful image. Thank you so much for your words also, Cindy.
See, right there, the idea, the thought, the metaphor of tending memories of my inner garden…so very important, grief….now in retirement, memories are precious, yet still painful, magical really to be able to recreate now, momentous
So glad to hear this, Cindy, I am sure you have many memories to share, from your own garden but also the many gardens you have been tending to at the end of their season.
Dear Almut, and all, And behind that story is a host of those who helped it come into being. The farm family who first built the house that hosted, a century later, the small garden of memory. And those who built the garden tools, and who built the second house, and later residents who scattered ferns around the margins of the back yard that we moved to build the second memory garden. And in front it will be (and are) the echoes through the lives of others in the future. A host of witnesses.
What a astonishing blessing for you both. Surprised by joy, indeed. Thank you for sharing this. My heart is with you.
Thank you, Donna. And yes, it is surprising that joy waits under grief, isn’t it?
Almut, I can’t begin to say how profound and intimate your words were for me.
Your metaphors were so touching and gentle, soft and lovely. Allowing yourself and those who read this to name the loss, the grief, the burying, both literal and figurative. My mother lost two pregnancies, one before my birth and one after. I was 4 years old and remember when my parents told my sisters and I that my mom was gonna have a baby. And I remember saying I’m gonna take care of you mommy and I went over and put her legs up on the ottoman. I can see it clearly in my mind‘s eye. So I must’ve already known that she had lost a baby before me. I’ve had a niece and sister-in-law who also experienced this. Beautiful words and a blessing. With gratitude for your loving words and care of your daughter’s insights. Ah, the wisdom of children. Peace to your heart.
Cindy, what a memory your inner garden holds. Your 4 year old self, already caring, already understanding, that is a beautiful image. Thank you so much for your words also, Cindy.
See, right there, the idea, the thought, the metaphor of tending memories of my inner garden…so very important, grief….now in retirement, memories are precious, yet still painful, magical really to be able to recreate now, momentous
So glad to hear this, Cindy, I am sure you have many memories to share, from your own garden but also the many gardens you have been tending to at the end of their season.
I love your”way with words”!
Thank you, Almut, for your beautiful words and voice.