Author: Evelyn
Growing up, one of the most memorable movies I watched was "The Secret Garden" (1993). The thought of discovering a hidden door with a sanctuary behind it fascinated me. Even more magical was the idea of sharing that secret with your closest friends and watching the barren land bloom after your hardwork. I longed to experience that fairytale — the joy, the discovery, the friendship.
It wasn’t until adulthood did I realize that the story is rooted in profound loss. Mary, the ten-year-old protagonist, abruptly lost both of her parents and all her caretakers to cholera. Her cousin Colin’s mother died in childbirth and Colin never got to know his mom. Mary's uncle, Master Craven, was stricken by prolonged grief and withdrew from his son. Nearly every character carried deep-seeded trauma.
And yet, the story did not center on the tragedy of loss, but the resilience despite of it. By the end, the children’s healing journey drew the adults out of the shadows as well.
Right after the funeral, I thought about planting something in memory of Ce. And yet being a black thumb, I mistrust my ability to keep a garden alive.
But I’m thankful to say that Ce has her own garden now. The Kirby Foundation graciously offered us a landscaping pocket in her memory. I can now peer out of our clinic’s back window and take walks to her little section. Although the soil currently looks barren, I trust that come spring the land will be bursting forth with life again.
And in the same way, I am trying to trust the seasons of grief. I feel barren and desolate, not sure how anything can ever get better. And yet those who have gone before me assured me that one day, I'd be surprised at how life began to show again.