On an ordinary Monday morning in February, I woke up, had breakfast with my family, bundled up, took my children outside to play, and read an article in the New York Times that I thought “Oh, Granny will enjoy this story.” Not five minutes later, I received a phone call from my mother that my grandmother had passed unexpectedly. Suddenly time stood still as I watched my innocent children playing in the yard, and contemplated the next steps of sharing the news with my family.
We got the kids into the car and made the drive to my grandmother’s home–a welcoming place for humans, animals, and plants. A place that’s always felt like home. The walk into the house from the front yard was the longest walk I’ve experienced. Each step felt like I had weights on my feet. The resistance against what I knew to be true was strong. As many of us experience during acute grief, I couldn’t quite allow my mind to catch up with what I was observing.
What I didn’t expect was the sense of peace that I felt in my visitation. An allowance and acceptance washed over me as I simultaneously sat present in the room and allowed so many childhood memories to flood in.
My children were taken to the nearby playground by my sister while my other family members took turns paying their respects. When it was my turn to take a round at the playground, my son joyfully showed me a green ball he’d found. “Monkey ball,” he said in a knowing tone. Suddenly it clicked that these were the same kinds of “nature balls” that my cousins and I played with as kids. Nature really does know how to heal, in the most subtle and unexpected ways. This simple reminder of my own childhood joy and the strong associations to my grandparents, were a welcome gift.
After spending time with family, we returned home, and settled the kids down for their naps. I was feeling restless and unsettled, tired but uneasy, so I decided to go on a nature walk. I spent time sitting near a stream listening to the water flowing and feeling the sun on my face. I felt pulled to walk in a direction on a small trail, so I followed that instinct. Initially, I came upon a curved vine (pictured below). It reminded me of the stories my mother would tell me about swinging from vines in her parents’ backyard as a child.
On my return toward the rocks, I encountered the vine from a completely different perspective as is the case when you view something from the other side. The image below is what greeted me on this new path. It is difficult to put into words the feeling that arose when I recognized the symbolism behind the shape of this vine. The vine was a gift on this day. A portal, perhaps, depending upon the eye of the beholder.
I shared this photo with friends and family recently asking the question: “What do you see in this?” The responses ranged from “a rattle snake next to the rock,” to “a lower case cursive ‘g’,” to “a natural moon gate.”
What I saw when I initially encountered it was a lower case cursive ‘g’. Immediately my mind made the connection to “grandmother” and I felt there was a spiritual connection. The moment someone referenced a moon gate, I was overcome with chills. From what I’ve learned about moon gates, they are features often found in gardens, made of rocks or other hard structures, and can symbolize a few different things:
- The natural cycle of life
- Birth and renewal
- Good fortune for those who pass through
- A connection between heaven and earth
Regardless of the meaning assigned, on this day, nature was a gift to me and I will always take comfort from the sense of peace and connection I felt that afternoon. I may have been alone in the woods, but it was a poignant reminder that even in our grief we are truly never alone.
