I have grieved a child. Really, I have grieved children. Ones I did not have. I know the depth of loss "that never was". It's impossible to explain this kind of grief to someone who has not felt the deep, deep desire for motherhood - to feel the stir of a child within - but has been denied it. The children I did not have were dreamed of and prayed for and deftly tried to be made manifest with science and money. They were named in the secret places of my mother heart and kept from everyone - even from the man who was mysteriously and simultaneously winning my lover heart. Telling him there were no names for these babies of which I dreamed was the only lie I ever told him. But, as time marched on and no children arrived to claim these names, I reluctantly or graciously or excitedly pulled them out of my heart's secret compartment for others to use for their children and even, secretly, a tiny ginger colored cat that I love.
Arriving at crossroads, I chose to let go of that dream and give my heart over to another dream of equal desire - to share a life with someone I loved. So, at the crossroads, I chose a partnership of adventure and desire and companionship. But, as with every loss - even with such wonderful other things on the horizon and a partner I believed loved me - it needed to be grieved. And this loss was and is profound. It rumbles the depths of my soul some days. And even more so now that the other dream has also washed ashore and I'm left alone....
But, no matter how deep that grief for the children that did not come to me, I can't imagine the loss of a child actually placed in your arms by God. A child who laughs and plays and cries and loves you as only a child can love a parent. A child you committed to be the protector of even when, in the dark truth of reality, that is impossible by any measure. I can't imagine what that would be each day of ones life to grieve ones child.
What does this have to do with gardening you ask?
Well, a garden is about birth and death and renewal. It was for me the place I poured my grief into when it had become the elephant in the room and I could not grieve openly at home. But, how that revelation came to me is for another time. Now is about a post by my friend Ilaria which can be read here. She has written beautifully about the loss of a friend's 10 year old son. A boy who claimed the name Simon.
I did not know him, but my heart sunk for his parents and then lifted again when Ilaria wrote that his parents and his sister would be traveling to places around the world that he had delighted in - even in his short time on earth. And in each of these ten places, they would plant one tree. Ten trees for Simon. One for each year he gave them joy and happiness. One for each year he was uniquely him on this earth.
They will be pouring their grief into a garden. They will plant something that will grow and grow and grow as their son will no longer be able to do. What courage they have.
And while I can't know their deepest of deepest grief, I know enough from my own desires and loss to know they will water these trees with their own tears.
I can't plant a tree in my 5x12 plot. I signed a paper saying so. But, I have already planted Violets for my Nana and Hyacinth for my Poppop. And tomorrow I will plant orange Gerber Daisies for a boy I did not know named Simon. I'll do this because my heart breaks for his mother and father and sister. And for my friend Ilaria who must be holding her own sons that much tighter today.
And with luck and love these playful bright daisies will come up again every year. And, maybe, in some secret way known only to the Universe, this will help comfort a grieving family who are planting trees around the world in the name of their son.
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