Living On

thoughts from my daddy's garden

I spent some time in my daddy’s garden yesterday. His beautiful hands were well-worn with the working of this ground. He put everything here, I thought to myself. And now it will have to go on without him.

The faces of flowers turned up to see me as I walked through, paying their respects, and I silently remembered all their names. The ferns bowed gracefully to make way for me. The creeping jenny stopped creeping, just for a moment, as I passed by. There were so many green things pushing up from the ground. So much color, order, artistry. So many things unapologetically alive.

Living on is all we can do, I say to these trees and flowers. They don’t need me to tell them. The hemlock nods and sways, the memory of generations rising up in her. A brown thrasher calls from the thicket, a train sounds in the distance, and the last petal of the fiery amarillis falls.

Dear friends,

I have found comfort in unusual places this week. In the garden, the things that come back—the flowers, the birds, the sights and sounds. I drank a cup of chai in the backyard and was transported to the days when Mama and Daddy were living and we drank tea in a small cafe downtown together.

Randy and I celebrated our 21st anniversary last weekend. We went away overnight and stayed at a beautiful house in the woods. (The precious baby came with us and was such a joy and a delight.) I spent a lot of time sitting on the front porch, thinking, soaking up the quiet. It was really good for my soul. I realized that seeing things that I know and recognize in the natural world is a comfort to me. Things that come back, year after year. The rhododendron in full bloom, the fan clubmoss spreading out on the forest floor, the friendly faces of flowers I know… And the birds and the trees and the squirrels. I met a new bird, which was another comfort. The eastern kingbird. It is a sweet, beautiful bird and it had a nest in the corner or the porch rafters. After eyeing me suspiciously for some time, flying first to one side of the woods and then the other, and finally realizing that I was not going to stop rocking on the porch, she flew up and settled into her nest.

I brought a few treasures from my father’s house. His teapot being one of them. This is another small comfort. I am about to start the tea, start the day, start the living on of life with these children, looking for the beautiful things to celebrate. Grateful for the hearts that beat, the eyes that see, the hands that touch and feel. Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.

Sending love and a garden in full bloom,

Mackenzie

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From the Blog:

(A reflection on grief and beauty written after my mother’s death.)

From the Family Archive:

“Snow is on the ground
Birds are flying all around us
Lay your burdens down
I know we will make it somehow…”

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