In a rocket seed
It’s a little different here. “Here” is my daughter’s home in an East German village. I am sitting in a garden surround by triffid-like pumpkins, roses, sunflowers and nasturtiums, apple trees and red and green peppers, tightly packed on their stems. In front of me there is a fire pit, an outdoor kitchen cum play space (everywhere pretty much is a play space) and one of several massive water butts, this one with a little wooden shop cum space station cum yellow submarine nestled beneath it. Fence posts are wackilly stencilled in white and walls are decorated with mosaic made from broken CDs which are glinting blue, green and red in the sun.
Four years ago, when my daughter and her partner moved here from Berlin, the earth was sandy and poor, the garden sterile. Next to the house is a ramshackle barn – cum children’s theatre space, cum art workshop – and beyond it another piece of poor sandy soil which too, is now an explosion of growth and colour and a venue for children’s and community gatherings.
Sibling loss
Three years before they moved here my son had died. Sibling loss is, I think, a much overlooked bereavement. For my daughter, where is the big brother to be an uncle to her little boy, the one to jointly shoulder concerns over ageing parents, the one with whom she has a shared childhood? I imagine this is a particular kind of loneliness, although I can’t know for sure what his death, the non-continuance of his life, feels like for her. What I can see is that through grief and sadness, she has found solace in having her hands in the earth, in nourishing it and tending seedlings, in creating abundant flourishing where there was parched sterility, in growing food and sharing colour and inspiration with others.
Last night there was an eclipse of the full moon. We watched as the dull, red moon rose against a darkening blue sky. As the sky became almost black, the moon emerging from its eclipse grew brighter and whiter, until finally it shone in all its full, luminous glory. Was it brighter because its light had been eclipsed? No, but it seemed so as we patiently awaited and appreciated its emergence. Is my daughter’s garden brighter, her house fuller, her sharing with others more generous because her brother died? I can’t answer that question, but I notice how appreciated she is, how valued, how loved.
After the eclipse
How is my own heart, having been eclipsed behind a deep, dark shadow of loss? Yesterday, while my grandson had an afternoon nap, I sat quietly to write and I filled with tears. For much of my children’s lives, I was a single mother. Now, I am a single grandmother – it’s not what I would have wished. One thing I continue to find painful, is the lack of someone with whom to share the experiences of my life. Writing to you helps me know what I experience, helps me to feel witnessed. Yet in the moment of experience and in the immediate aftermath, in the sorrow and in the joy, when excited and when anxious, I have to be my own resource.
Tending my own garden
I have over the years, nourished the soil within me; things are growing in the garden inside me and I have to remember that it is flourishing in a way it never has before. Would I have tended it so carefully, if I hadn’t had to, if I hadn’t needed to live from its produce? That’s another question I can’t answer. But as I sit in the breezy sunshine, in the brief quiet before the little person returns from kindergarten, one of the three cats who own this space acknowledging my presence, I reflect that we all have a garden to tend amidst challenging weather and perhaps climate change and I realise I would, given a choice, choose my own again. Pain has caused me to value love, sorrow has taught me compassion and humility, all of it has encouraged me to soften to life, not to harden to it.
I have been tasked with de-seeding the dried rocket. The seeds are hard little accumulations of potential. When the soil is moistened with rain, the hard skins will soften; bit by bit the potential will emerge and, with some sunshine to speed their journey, they will flourish and in their time, provide nourishment. And there it is in a nutshell – or rather a rocket seed.
With my love
Nickie
NEWS
28 Day Writing Challenge – 28th September to 25th October – free of charge
Please join me to write every day for 28 days! This will be a peer offering and free of charge (but I am open to cups of coffee as always! See below for how to donate.)
It’s up to you what you write – poetry, journalling, stream of consciousness, other – but I suggest you don’t think about it too much!
The knowledge that we’re all doing it together, somehow helps us to keep going and reap the benefits – and there are many: better sleep, better self awareness, less fear of writing and more trust in yourself, to name just a few.
I’m planning to hold a Zoom call on Sunday 28th September for anyone who would like to join me and another on Sunday 26th October to see how we all got on. You can of course do the challenge without joining in one or both of the Zooms.
More information on the Events Page. You can also PM me on my Instagram – Live, Love, Grieve (see below) if you would like to join me.
Creatively Writing Through Loss: 4 weekly sessions online, beginning Tuesday 11th November, 7 – 8.45pm.
Following on from the writing challenge (and from the Clay Stories workshop – see below), I invite you to join me on the third iteration of this writing course, for people managing grief and loss in their lives. You do not have to be ‘good at writing’ to benefit from this course. This is about using writing as a way to work with loss, rather than about producing the next masterpiece!
Here are somethings which other participants have said about the course:
“Brilliant, very well held and plenty of space to explore difficult stuff…. Brilliant offering, really helpful….I felt very safe in the group… A lot of love and care in the group which Nickie modelled herself… Enlightening and moving”
So gather round the fire of creativity with me and let’s explore gently and safely together.
£40 – £60 according to means
Go to the events page for more information and to book or you can book directly here.
Alternatively write to me on Instagram (see below)
Clay Stories – November 8th in person event in South Brent
Here are the details of my next collaborative workshop This is the first time I will be working with local potter Roger Womack.
Roger and I have both found solace for profound grief in our chosen forms of creativity. Roger has run workshops in and around South Devon- “Remembering with Clay” and “Clay Conversations” – and as many of you know, I have held numerous groups in person and online for those who are grieving,mostly using writing and inspired by the natural world. Together, we will hold a gentle and respectful space in which you can safely explore your loss.
Absolutely no prior experience of working with clay or writing is necessary, this is about accessing and bringing comfort to the feelings of grief, through the process of creativity, and not about any finished articles.
If you live further afield, do consider staying for the weekend. We are on the edge of Dartmoor National Park which is stunning at any time of year but especially in the autumn.
For more information you can write to me on my Instagram or you can book from the Events page here.
Please do join us.
Buy Me a Coffee
A very big thank you to those of you who generously support this blog with your donations to Buy Me a Coffee. I gift this blog as well as my work at a local hospice and my work leading the Threshold Choir singing for those on the threshold of life, and so I am extremely grateful for any support you offer me. If you would like to donate at any time, you can do so here. Thank you.
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