From Grief to Growth: A Garden's Healing Power

Mother Nature has always been in my blood. I was one of those kids who spent hours outside, from dawn until the streetlights came on, exploring the knot wood field, wandering the woods, and getting lost in public gardens. It wasn’t just the plants and flowers that captured my heart, but the connection to the earth itself—the way the soil felt in my hands, under my feet, the scent of fresh growth, fresh dirt and the smell of the seasons.

Some of my most treasured memories are of my Memas garden. I can still see us, me collecting tomatoes while she fried fish in the kitchen. Always dancing, always singing. It was in those moments that I learned not only how to grow food, but the deeper meaning of tending to something with love. She did all things with love. When I was a kid, me, my sister and my cousin would pretend we had magic powers, haha. We would spend hours outside, making “potions” from the flowers and plants we picked and cast all sorts of spells. I love those memories. I also remember feeling very different from the other kids. “Why are you so weird” was the normal question.

I have always been and always loved being around plants, gardens and nature. My Mema had a beautiful sunroom filled with plants and more windows than bright yellow walls! She even had a Blue Mountain Jamaican coffee tree, that produced beans! She had the greenest thumb and as religious as she was, I swear she was a green witch... or at least a kitchen witch. She had a remedy for everything. Some I still use to this day. Once when my oldest daughter had the hiccups, she told me to take a small piece of toilet paper, get it wet with my spit and stick it to her forehead, the hiccups will go away. AND THEY DID. I used that on all three of my kids. My mother always had house plants and a garden too. I guess that’s where I get it. It runs in the blood.

I gardened on and off for the last 10 years, the last four consecutively and passionately the last two. This will be year three. I think that was my way of coping with her loss. I honestly felt like Poppy from Trolls in that scene where she loses all her color. That perfectly describes the sadness I felt. That summer, I completely submerged myself into building the garden of OUR dreams. She once told me what she missed most about her old house, was her gardens. After she moved, she did still have one, but it was smaller. She worked with what she had, she was good at that. 

This will be my third summer without Mema. The colors are slowly coming back. The joy. The Magic. Now when I’m in the garden or walking through the woods, I can feel her presence. Especially on days like today, prepping the garden for the season. I can feel her in the breeze, and I can see her in the butterflies. I miss her so much.

I know She’s here with me. 

Guiding me through the seasons, through the paths and through my heart.