How do you ever come to terms with the loss of a parent? Can being in nature really help?

Many of you reading this know that sadly, my elderly father died peacefully last August.  Even though I would never expect a friend to be "over" a significant loss in ten months, it has become harder to talk about.  Is this my habitual pattern of holding in emotions rather than sharing them I wonder?  Do I not want to "burden" others with something that feels so raw still?  Or is it just impossible to describe in words something so vast and aching in my heart, so I don't even begin to try?   When a neighbour cheerfully talked about Father's Day and told me about their celebrations, I didn't want to affect her joy.  I just wished I could share that I'd had tea and scones with my father in the garden of his care home. 

When my father died, the shock and disbelief helped to dampen down the pain, only allowing the reality to peep through for moments until it hurt too much to bear.  In the last six weeks I have been forced to slow down because my body has needed time to rest and heal from a virus and bronchitis.  And unsurprisingly, the grief that I was trying to keep at a distance through keeping busy has gently made its presence felt.  I wish I could say that it feels soothing to think of my father and allow myself to mourn.  While this is true at times, the finality also hits me like a shock all over again.  The truth that I won't see him again just feels incredibly difficult.  I know I look "normal" on the outside and seem to be functioning on a day-to-day basis, but I don't feel okay on the inside.  "How do I happily go on with my life without him?" is the question I don't know the answer to yet.

On Friday, during a mini heatwave here in England, we had another service for my father that I had been planning since the autumn.  My father had wanted his ashes to be laid to rest in the graveyard of the church by their old house.  I had hoped for some sunshine to help the difficult day feel slightly lighter, but I wasn't expecting 30℃ for the whole day.  We stood in the shade while the vicar carried out the short service and my father's ashes were placed safely into the earth.  And then it was over, and I stood once again in a swirl of emotions and shock, unable to compute that the box in the earth could have anything to do with my father.  We came back a while later, and there was the gravestone that we had waited so long to have engraved, now finally saying his name underneath my mother's.  And at this point, I just wanted to curl up next to the stone and wail, or to place a blanket next to them and curl up until it doesn't hurt so much.  

The only thing that is bringing some comfort right now is being in nature.  I can just about manage to sit with my grief for a short time and then I need to escape outdoors.  After the service for my father, I longed to be surrounded by trees and natural beauty.  So we walked slowly through nearby woods, feeling the cooling shade and hearing the soothing sound of the leaves rustling.  At a viewpoint, we sat on a blanket under trees and stayed there for ages feeling a surprising sense of peace.  Trees don't try to ask what is wrong, they don't suggest strategies for moving on and they don't judge how you are feeling.  They just radiate a steady presence, this gentle aliveness that feels like a tonic when facing loss. 

Later, we went to find more shade and tea at the cafe by these woods.  As I sipped my cooling ginger tea, I noticed the tall trunks of four palm trees adjacent to our table.  I looked up and smiled as I admired their height and vibrant fronds.  My parents loved palm trees from their travels to Turkey.  It felt like a sign that their presence can still be felt and remembered.  I felt a tiny glimmer of hope, that I will find a way forwards in time.  And while I grieve, the healing power of nature will continue to support all of us who are also dealing with some kind of loss.

 

"While mourning can throw us into a state of prolonged grief and despair, the natural world can help us to regain a sense of peace and inner calm" (Lambaise)