Garden of Grief

Damon and I at the Columbus conservatory, botanical gardens in 2016.

In the quiet moments of my patio, where once I found peace, I now stand with a heavy heart, watching the delicate blooms emerge from the earth's awakening. Summer arrives once again, as it always has, casting a bittersweet shadow over my heart. The cycle of life and death unfolds before me, a vicious reminder of the beauty that persists even in the midst of one's tragedy.

Damon, a sweet soul, was a reflection to the wonders of growth and life. I remember moments shared in the kitchen, the curiosity in his eyes as I unveiled the mysteries of the living world. Dash of pepper, pinch of salt. A little help from his grandmother's bowl in our tiny kitchen and water with flour. His fascination with the simple yeast, moving around before his eyes as we made dough for our bread was actually alive! His childlike innocence renewed my appreciation for what living things grow in our every day lives that we don't pay attention to.

As I nurtured my garden this year, coaxing life from seeds, I never imagined the life I would experience in four short months would bring winter early, freezing time and space.

The very cycle that brought hope and renewal before, the blossoms that unfurl in the sun, mock the emptiness that has taken root within me. How can life continue to flourish when you lost your best friend?

Just as the plants I tended took root in the dark of winter, Damon's spirit persists in the corners of my sadness. His shine of light, continues to haunt me with a quiet strength, defying the chill of deafening loss. The seasons may march forward, but there will not be another season where I get to hug my kid again in this lifetime.

The ache of absence mingles with the beauty of rebirth, and I am reminded that even in the harshest winters, the promise of spring's return remains.

Always on my mind, entrenched in my heart, DMM.