I planted my seeds this weekend. An exorbitant amount of tomatoes. I can recall at least 6 different types. Rows and rows of tiny seeds, planted in 1 inch holes, in tiny pockets of soil. I will water them (although not as much as I should, because I tend to forget) and I will give them sunshine (although not as much as they need, because we live in Michigan) and I will talk to them (yes, I am that person) and I will wait. Buried under the care of soil, water, sunshine and encouragement, the seed will grow or it won’t.

The first sign of green that pushes its way through the soil will give me great joy! And I will actually be sad about the many that stay buried, not able to receive the nourishment I give them. I have dug up the soil at times, just to see if I can figure out what went wrong. After all, they each get the same treatment…but some just never push through the dark challenge of growth. They die under the weight of progress.

Do you see the lessons of grief in there? I do. I know, I see the lessons of grief in so many things, but that’s not bad. Grief is the great teacher that none of us want, but when we learn to appreciate its lessons, it teaches us more than almost anything else could.

Grief was initially planted when I was just little, and that first layer of soil covered me. However, I didn’t know any better than to push through, growth was still a strong desire, but then another couple hardships later, and a few more layers of soil added, and I became more hesitant of growth. After all, there is safety in the dark.

And then my dad…and then Grace…

The layers piled on so heavy, there were days I didn’t even want to grow. And to be honest, I didn’t, I haven’t, in some areas. I have stayed in the dark, in the safety of the grief surrounding me. I can look at pictures of Grace and talk about her and hear her name, with very little issue. I can’t watch a video though. I can’t hear her voice. The way she moved and the way she squealed at everything, I can’t do that. I need to keep that seed of grief buried for longer, I guess. In other areas though, I have pushed through the process of growth. I have been fed the water of wisdom by those who have gone through this all before. I have felt the heat of the sun on my face, reminding me that I am alive and can live a full life still.

This is my reminder, to all those grieving, be kind to yourself. The seeds of grief have been scattered over you. You will emerge victorious (albeit completely exhausted) in some areas, and then in others, you might need to stay hidden for a while longer. The goal is to push for growth, though, somewhere, somehow. Believe me, once the sun shines on your face, you will be glad you struggled through.