The Meteor in the Garden: A Metaphor for Grief

Imagine this.

You've built a beautiful garden. There are spaces that need some attention, and it is never truly finished, but for now it works. There are parts you enjoy, parts that are beautiful, work to keep you feeling a sense of achievement.

And then, a meteor lands. Maybe out of nowhere, or perhaps you saw it coming but couldn't do anything to stop it. Knowing it would land but not quite sure how it would impact you.

It lands. There is a period of quiet destruction. The garden you knew no longer look recognisable. There is dust over everything. Some things survive, others are hard to see for a while, some parts are never going to grow back. 

In the middle of the garden is this great big rock.

You don't want it here. It wasn't part of the plan. The garden was just getting right, or perhaps it's yet another setback. This rock represents so much pain and loss. You just want it gone.

Maybe you ignore it for a bit. Focus on the other parts of your garden. This usually doesn't work for too long, it's hard to ignore. Perhaps you try and push it out, but this rock is just too heavy to move.

You don't want it here, you wish it hadn't landed, and yet you know that it has and it isn't going anywhere. You make room for it in your garden.

Over time, the dust settles. There is space and time to start tending to the rest of your garden. The hardy parts grow back without much attention, the grass and daisies keep sprouting. Somehow, the weeds survive, maybe even thrive. Some of the more sensitive plants need a little time or nourishment. Maybe a few more plants arrive to fill the gaps.

The meteor stays.

At some point, the garden starts to feel more like yours again. It's different. It'll never be how it was, but maybe it feels a little safer. A little more alive. Maybe even starts to bring you some joy again.

The meteor stays.

Perhaps, with time, the garden starts to claim the meteor. Maybe some moss grows on it, or it makes a perfect spot for wildlife to land. 

You might never look at the meteor and want it, or be glad it is here. There doesn't have to be a silver lining. But perhaps it's not the first thing you see, or maybe you can continue to tend the garden even with the meteor in place.

Maybe this is grief.