Gardening Through Grief

<TRIGGER WARNING: this post talks about baby loss and miscarriage, please protect yourself if these topics are too much to read about right now. It is a blog about hope and solace as well, but think first about reading ahead.>

It was just after suffering our first miscarriage and undergoing two surgical procedures that I got in to gardening a few years ago.

Baby loss and grief can affect each person in a variety of ways, and we all discover different techniques to deal with and process our experience and feelings. There were many days I didn’t want to get out of bed, open the curtains, and certainly didn’t want to leave the house.

My garden however, became a safe space (much like being under the duvet), it was a place I could be without having to talk to anyone, or explain anything. I could take things at my own pace with no one rushing me or pressuring me to do more than I wanted to. It was a space I could process thoughts whilst being productive and physically active in a gentle way. I didn’t have to dress up, or put on makeup, or have to face seeing someone with a baby bump or a child in their arms. I wasn’t out in public, but it was an open space full of fresh air and nature. It wasn’t overwhelming. It was manageable, and it was a solace.

A REASON TO LEAVE THE HOUSE

We are all told how much better we will feel if we get out and go for a walk, but when your head and heart are so full of grief, sorrow, anger and sadness, the idea of going for a healthy walk is hard to put into action. I also think that after the miscarriage I was processing a lot of things that had happened that I hadn’t been in control of, so when someone told me to do something (even for my own good), it made me even less likely to do it – I wanted something I could control again, to do things on my terms, for my reasons. Gardening gave me a reason to get out of the house.

Some days I only managed a short walk around the garden (it’s not huge), but other days I was out there for a while and managed to potter a bit, and eventually I drove myself to the garden centre to buy plants and plug vegetables. I never forced myself outside with the mind-set that “it will do me some good”, instead I embraced the days when I did feel I wanted to be out there, and took it slow.

 A NEW FOCUS

As it says on my gardening blog page “to plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow”. It’s an act of hope, and of trust that as time goes forward the seasons will change, and the seeds and plants will flower and flourish – and that you will be around to see them.

I didn’t have any issue with believing that the next season would come or that my gardening efforts would produce flowers and vegetables. But there was a stark contrast in that I couldn’t believe the next season would come for me, or that my efforts in life would result in a baby I so desperately wanted. Despite there being plenty of dark days where I cried for hours or out of nowhere, and the thoughts of “why did this happen” and “what is wrong with me” were often all consuming, I knew that to lessen the intensity I eventually needed to put my focus on something else, and for me that was my garden.

The first thing we planted was a duo apple tree that we’d been given as an anniversary present. It is set to produce both cooking and eating apples (but we are still a few years off our first crop!). I was still recovering from the surgeries so I didn’t dig, lift or bend, but I stood in the soggy April showers directing my husband on exactly where to plant it.

COMMEMORATIVE CREATIVITY

I spent a lot of time thinking about how to commemorate the first baby we lost, as a way of processing it, and as a way of remembering and honouring the person who never made it earth side.  I decided to buy a rose plant, something special I chose on my own and bought with my own money. It was my way of dealing with my grief, and it felt important for me to do something for my own healing. I chose a rose called ‘Sweet Memories’, and in an unexpected turn of events it flowers almost all year round and I have no idea why or how.

Every time I see it in bloom, it reminds me of what I lost, but also that the rain is as necessary as the sun to make something unique and beautiful. I keep her near the house in a special pot, so I can see her closer than the rest of the plants in the garden.  She signifies the ‘sweet memories’ I had finding out I was pregnant the first time, the unassuming excitement and happiness I felt, the internal words I spoke to that baby, the plans I had for them and us as a new family of three. Falling pregnant that time had been exactly what I’d wanted for a long time and will always be a ‘sweet memory’ for me.

 I’m afraid I have no guarantees that gardening is the answer to anyone else’s grief, but in sharing how and why I got started I hope it may give someone else a little hope in their darkest time. Gardening gave me a little patch of nature that helped me find something I could control at a time when I felt I couldn’t control anything, it was my safe space that provided fresh air without the people, and it was the canvas that allowed me to be creative in my form of commemoration.