Unique Process

My healing might include laughter, tears, throwing something, creating something, talking, not talking. In other words, it will be as unique as my fingerprints and DNA. And my grieving process will be as predictable as the weather – a completely frustrating mystery.  -Unknown

I lack any sort of “green thumb.”  At best, I can keep succulents alive since, since as long as I manage to remember to water them every few weeks, they seem to do ok. I have had to fill my yard with hardy hostas that require little attention.  When we lost Nelle, we were given a plant that I have more dutifully taken care of, but every once in awhile it droops and I realize that I have neglected it. It always manages to perk up though. 

After attending the blessing in the memory garden at the hospital earlier this summer, I began to form the idea of putting something in our yard to honor our babies. I have photos and artwork from the boys scattered throughout the house, along with the endless supply of toys, clothes, and books to remind me of their presence.  It is the little mementos to honor my daughters that have become meaningful for me.  I knew that any type of outdoor tribute would need to fit me and not be something I copied from a Pinterest post or babyloss site. Only something I created would I be able to make thrive.

I started with some tall pink flowers. I knew that this was risky, in that I would need to diligently water them, but they were so beautiful.  I already had a raised flower box that could hold them, and an empty space in front of the house to place them.  Two pots of pink flowers.

Then I found a smooth, gray stone at a local shop stamped with the words “always remember.”  I added that, in front of the flowers.

Lastly, I wanted some metal butterflies. I scoured the internet until I found some on Etsy.  I placed an order, and they took a ridiculously long time to ship, but finally arrived yesterday.  When I slid the stakes of the butterflies into the ground near the flowers, Theo said “Why did you get those?” but Quentin immediately asked “Are those for our babies?”  Yes, I replied.  One butterfly for each of our babies.  My own little memory garden, passed by every time someone walks to our front door.