I am thinking about a planting a garden this Spring.  That statement should not require a blog post or need any introspection on my part. It should be simple – buy some seeds, water them, eat the food, and love the fresh deliciousness. Especially when I am 3 years, 9 months, and 2 days into this grief journey.

Here’s why it’s hard: the last garden I grew ended badly. It started out really fun. Mike built nice raised beds and of course, like always, we went a little overboard. 2 beds, 5′ x 20′ apiece.  Our goal was to add 2 beds per year and have tons of food and preserve a lot of it. Live off the land. Be mini-homesteaders. Maybe sell a little at the farmer’s market.

We planned out our garden, mapped out where everything was planted and maximized all 200 sq ft. We went out every evening to check our progress and were so happy every time we ate something fresh and delicious that WE had grown. We were good gardeners. We had dabbled a little before; things like peppers and tomatoes and corn. This garden, though, we dove into. Like everything at our new house, it was a labor of love. And we enjoyed it so much and worked on it together.

When Mike died, I stopped watering it. I was so pissed off at these dumb vegetables that sat there mocking me. I was pissed at myself for not taking care of them, but I could not force myself to do it. Mike’s mom tried to salvage a few items and I couldn’t eat a bite. I went out one day, and pulled every living thing that we had loved so much, and threw it in the dumpster. I was sobbing and screaming and sweating in the scorching afternoon heat and it was one of my lowest, most painful moments. Cauliflower had never caused so much anguish. Our beautiful garden, in the trash. It was an easy target for me aim my anger.

Now, 1372 days later, I am missing it so much. I am missing the process and the anticipation of how it all will do. Nothing tastes better or feels more nourishing that growing your own food. I think I’m ready.  I will start slow, a few small raised beds, from some antique boxes from my grandparents’ ranch. I’ll be gentle with myself and try to appreciate every moment as I plant, water, and then finally eat all the yummy stuff. Or, I’ll get pissed off like before and tear it all out and throw it away. I’ll know that either way is fine, just have to keep on healing a little tiny bit at a time, however and whenever it works.

This is another reason that grief sucks so much. I  have to spend so much time and energy on something so simple. Something that should 90% full of joy and 10% full of grumbling about weeds and bugs. Instead, I had to work slowly and bravely up to this little step. Wish me luck.