In October, life took a firm grip on my family, and released my mother to eternity.
This post is in memory of my mother, who was an amazing gardener. Her garden was a universe of life, programmed to live and die in cycles, and while doing it, to throw cascades of colours, shapes, light and shadow, or to simply whisper softly about nature’s brilliance.
Past autumn, I had the chance to follow her garden gradually close down and prepare itself for winter. We as a family had the chance to gather and be with her in her last days, to support her and each other, as we said goodbye. Something about her open, calm and accepting attitude gave me comfort. Still in her very last days and hours, she taught me something about life.
Pain and harmony, in one.
Why am I even trying to put words on it?
The first afternoon without my mother, I walked – again – the paths of her garden. The image above speaks to me about what a family is, at its very best: a place to give and receive support.
Below a few other October views from her garden, which stretches into the woods. I took some photos with the iPad, to be able to bring the garden to her bed. But she was too tired, and I realised that it was now beyond her. She had let go of her garden. And here I am, with the feeling I want to stay in it, forever.
I’ve also been sharing photos from her garden on Instagram with the tag #enavtusenträdgårdar. Due to the distance, I am not able to follow all months and seasons, but I know that every visit back I’ll be wandering those paths again.