Gardening is Heartbreak

Cardinal Climber vine in bloom in my garden, October, 2011.

Early morning realization: 

I am mourning my garden. Still. 

I've lost more than half of my garden over the last few years. It began with hurricane Irene in August of 2011, continued with hurricane Sandy in October of 2012 and continued further with the Winter of 2013-2014, our first real Northeast winter in well over a decade (the first since our moving here to the coast in December of 2005). Plus we were 5 feet above normal for rainfall in 2011 and suffered drought & above normal temps in 2012. 

And it's time I begin dealing with my grief vs shoving it away and pretending it isn't there. 

I've often made reference to feeling betrayed by Mother Nature and it's true, I do. And that betrayal has hurt so deeply I've lost the joy, healing & comfort gardening always gave me before. I've been saying that this year I will reclaim those good feelings, but to be honest, right now I have my doubts.

Gardening was my Church. My connection. My therapist. My inspiration. My safe place in this world. 

When I look at the garden, when I even think about it, tight knots form in my chest & stomach. Much like what I felt for months once we found out my beloved Father.in.law was going to pass and even after he passed. 

Maybe I am even a little angry too. Not about my Father.in.law, but my garden, at Mother Nature.  

My roses, my favorite garden flower, have taken the biggest hit. I'm down to five from well over a dozen. I know that doesn't sound like much, but for my small space, it was more than enough. After this Winter, I've sadly added Pope John Paul II hybrid tea, in memory of my Nana (who very much admired Pope John Paul II), and Mardi Gras floribunda, my first non Knock Out rose (and one of the most beautiful in my garden) to the lost roses list. 

Oh and add Camellia 'April Blush' to the overall lost list too. She made it through this Winter fine until that last dip Ito the teens & 20s last month. 

Sigh.

I guess it's like the ole saying that goes something like, 'you know it's time to move when you've painted the house...'

Prior to hurricane Irene in August of 2011, my coastal garden was finished. There wasn't room for one more plant. I had attained my goal of making the garden not look like a container garden - it looked like a lush, full in-ground garden.  And I was blissfully happy with it! 

I should have known...

There's lots of cleaning out & up to do and re-potting what's left. Then it's time to start over. Again. Because I won't get over it until I do.

Is there something hurtful in your life that you've been avoiding that you could begin taking steps today towards healing?