Grief & Grace: Where Love Lives — At the Grave, On the Mountain, In the Garden
There were moments when I visit the grave, and it feels like an anchor rests in my chest — heavy and quiet, with their names carved into stone as if love could ever be contained there.
I’ve stood before that granite, tracing the letters, and though I honor the space, I’ve never truly felt them there. For me, the energy feels still, as though I am standing beside a symbol rather than a soul.
When Russ and Ariel passed, I wanted to give others in our family a place to visit, so I placed a stone at the cemetery. It wasn’t for me — it was for those who needed that touchpoint, that physical ground to stand on when the grief felt too large to hold.
For me, my moment of connection happened elsewhere — on Mt. Chocorua in New Hampshire, where several family members and friends joined me to spread their ashes. I carried them on my back the entire climb — every ounce of weight both physical and sacred. Even when I grew tired, and kind hands offered to carry some of the load, I couldn’t let it go. It was mine to carry.
I will forever be grateful to my family and friends who made that climb, especially our parents, who came despite age and health challenges. Together we reached that spot — three-quarters up the mountain — and released them into the wind. It was one of the hardest, holiest things I have ever done.
Since then, I have found ways to honor them that feel alive. I tend gardens that bloom in their memory — places where life returns again and again, where the soil holds stories and the flowers carry whispers of love. When I plant, water, or gather petals, I feel them there.
But the truth is, they’re not in the grave. They’re not only on that mountain or in my garden beds. I know they are with me — always, everywhere I go. That is the power of love.
So wherever, however you connect with your loved ones — at the cemetery, on a mountaintop, through a garden, a candle, or a quiet morning memory — that is the right way for you. Grief and love have no single path; they only ask to be honored in the way your soul feels most true.
Love is not bound by place. It moves through memory, through earth, through us. Take a moment to notice where you feel your loved one’s presence most strongly. Is it in the wind, a song, a scent, a particular place? Wherever that is — that’s where love still lives.
Write about a place that feels sacred to you in your grief journey. What memories or feelings come forward there? How has your relationship with that space — or your loved one — changed over time?
If you feel called, plant a living tribute — a flower, herb, or tree — in their honor. Each time you tend to it, whisper a few words of love or gratitude. Let the act of nurturing something living remind you that love never ends — it only transforms.
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