Grief and Gardening

I have been meaning to start this blog back up for weeks.  Now that we’re all home all the time, I have plenty of time to write.  I am far from any kind of expert on gardening, but I wanted to start sharing some adventures that come from my newfound love of planting and growing things.  

I’ve always loved being outdoors.  On any given day, I would much rather be found out in the yard or at least on our screened in porch than inside the house.  When Jameson passed away last year, this became even more true. Our house held sad memories and pain. Seeing Jameson’s things and mentally reliving the trauma of his death inside the house made the great outdoors even more inviting.

I’ve found therapy in the outdoors, even the occasional glimpses of joy.  What started as a simple project of building a vegetable garden last spring has morphed into more of a mini homesteading effort.  After the garden was built, we decided the next logical step was raising chickens, something I had been dreaming of doing for years.  When I got hooked on that (there is very little as comforting and joyful as baby animals), I occasionally added to our flock. We started with six chicks last spring, bought two more, lost two to predators, and now have six laying hens, and four “teenage” chicks that Rhys and I picked out in early March.  Today, we topped it all off by purchasing 10 cornish cross broilers. I’ve decided that I’m sick of grocery store chicken. Every time I try to cook it, it almost turns my stomach. There’s something gross about it. After my good friend Doris told me about her childhood growing up eating fresh chicken from her farm and how delicious it was, I was inspired.  I could never pull the trigger on buying chicks that I knew I would have to raise and then butcher, but when the virus started affecting how often chicken was available at the grocery store, I thought this was as good a time as any. I picked them up from the post office today. Boy are they adorable. But don’t get too attached. They’ll only be with us for 6-8 weeks.

I know that being quarantined and the fear of the virus is causing anxiety with so many families.  For some reason, it’s actually been somewhat of a nice distraction from grief. I am not worried or in panic over the virus.  I guess since last year, I have a new view of death. It doesn’t scare me. Our family takes the recommended precautions and stays at home almost every day, but it doesn’t bother me.  I usually don’t mind being at home, especially lately with the weather being beautiful like it’s been. I think the virus doesn’t scare me because I’ve already experienced great loss. I’ve already lived my worst nightmare.  If my mom had been alive, for example, she would have definitely been high risk. I would have been very scared for her. But she’s safely in Heaven, along with Jameson, unbothered by our worries here on Earth.  

I’ve been having a lot of dreams about Jameson and my mom lately.  They aren’t always pleasant. Two nights ago I dreamed that I was outdoors with Jameson and he was laying on the ground, curled up, lifeless.  I was hunched over him with my arms wrapped around his entire body, sobbing loudly and making a scene. People started gathering to watch. I was screaming and sobbing, not wanting anyone to get close or take him away from me.

Last night, the dream was happier.  For some reason, I was in the parking lot of a restaurant.  Apparently, there was a gathering there, I think for a little boy’s birthday party.  Cars came into the parking lot and unloaded families, all with little boys that we knew.  One was a former neighbor, one of Jameson’s closest friends growing up. Another was a little boy and his family that I knew from school.  Finally, a family walked up and they had Jameson with them. It was almost as if Jameson had maybe had a sleepover and they were returning him to me.  That must have been why I was in the parking lot. I was waiting for Jameson. I could see them off in the distance and I ran to Jameson and hugged him so tightly.  I picked him up and kissed him over and over. “I missed you soooooo much!” I said to him. I don’t remember what he said to me, other than, “I know, Mama.” Many of my dreams are about reunions with Jameson and they are both sweet and painful dreams.  If only he really were just at a sleepover. How I wish my little buddy were here, helping me in the garden, feeding the chickens, or laying in the hammock with my reading a good book together.

June 2016: When we lived in Fuquay Varina, I used to volunteer at a community garden. Sometimes I brought Jameson and Rhys with me to help and learn about gardening. My favorite memory was this day, when the boys got to help dig up potatoes. To them, it was like digging for gold!