The Show Must Go On

April is the cruellest month.

So began TS Eliot in The Burial of The Dead, the opening section of The Waste Land, published in 1922.

April sky

All very apt 90 years later, as I struggle to comprehend a world without my beloved Dad.

Blackthorn blossom

We have sought solace in the garden amidst the blur of our sorrow; even blinded by tears there is something reassuring about burying neglected bulbs, and sowing abandoned seeds. In the past weeks, I have gratefully fallen into the rhythm of weeding and digging and other simple tasks that require no real application of mind, though taking enough focus to temporarily soothe the maelstrom within.

Young broad bean plants in April

The sudden swings between turbulent storms and dazzling spring sunshine outside seems to echo the internal struggle of loss; but despite sharp nights and wild windy days, the broad beans that we planted out are standing firm. Tomatoes planted into the borders in the greenhouse some weeks ago are also comfortable, though the cucumber plants have keeled over and replacements shelter on a sunny windowsill for a few weeks more.

White honesty

The long-anticipated vignettes of our first-year spring blooms have fallen rather flat, but there is a part of me that still finds a sliver of pleasure in the flurries of flowers that abound.

Honesty, primroses and forget-me-nots in the shade of the old birch

Thank you for your words of support. We are still here. We are comforting one another, and slowly starting to rebuild this sad new world around us. Please bear with me if I don’t write much in these strange days; if I visit you seldom and mostly silently for a while.


It has been a cruel month indeed. But it will pass, and I will find my voice again.


11 thoughts on “The Show Must Go On

  1. Two years ago today I lost my Dad. I have found being able to garden and grow plants a source of great relief and happiness. I know it may sound clique, but things do get better with time. Whilst you might not want to even comprehend feeling happy at the moment, there will come a day when you will smile, and it won’t hurt quite so much to hear others laugh. If you ever need an ear that truly does understand what it feels like, then please feel free to find me xxx

  2. You are voicing the pain that many of us have felt but never expressed as well. Your garden will give you time to think and time not to have to think too much. With love, Christina

  3. 2 My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? 3 And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. (John 14:2-3)
    words for comfort in sorrow

  4. Well said, Sara. You will come bouncing back eventually, once the shock of bereavement has subsided. I think you understand why gardens are so often chosen as a vehicle for remembrance.

  5. Sorry to hear of your loss. I can only echo the sentiments above and wish you well over the coming months. My garden and plants have always provided me with a place to retreat and a place of solace and helped to heal me. I’m sure your garden will do the same for you. Best wishes, WW x

  6. Thank you all for your support, once again.

    I’ll try to focus on the gardening on these pages – and there is a lot of that at the moment! Between work and the garden, there is more than enough distraction, most of the time…

    S xx

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