Delight

Amy Oledzki on May 5, 2025

Every part of the spring season can be a delightful scene dancing in front of us. The new growth is there for the taking, everywhere, watching the results of the softened earth from the melting snow and spring rains. The season beckons a positive emotional response, but when sadness or grief is present, finding the space to bloom can feel like the remaining late frost of the winter, stunting any sign of delight.

Our focus for the month is delight. Delight is defined as “a high degree of pleasure, satisfaction, or joy.” Pleasure or joy when caring for a child with a terminal illness or a medically complex condition can feel like the remaining chilly winter air rushing in from time to time. Finding any delight with this much heaviness are unwanted and unpleasant feelings that intertwine with every moment of care given. The idea of delight may feel distant, even impossible, when exhaustion, sorrow, and worry take up so much space.

While I may not know or understand your pain, I can find lessons in nature that may help. The beauty of spring can resemble grand delight, especially after the baren winter season. The flowering magnolia, the pink of the quince flowers, and the white blossoms of the cherry trees at Hope Grows feel welcoming. However, when we focus on any delight in this space of grief and sadness, it may feel a bit too grand, so we push it aside and continue with the heaviness, feeling cheated out of any delight it can bring.

Where can we nourish and savor moments of delight? At Hope Grows, we have been blessed to be a part of many caregiver stories, sometimes receiving more than we give. In addition to providing support, we engage in the message of the mission, inspiring hope through nature while empowering wellness of mind, body, and spirit. The nature part of the mission teaches about the reciprocal benefits: while nature gives, we receive. This is where true connection, not just in nature, but in our relationships with our care receivers occur. We must be open to not just the giving of care, but the receiving of it as well.

Gardening in spring is challenging. As we pay attention to the changing weather, we find a need to protect the new growth and the blossoms as best we can. We may consider covering the flowering trees as best we can when the night air may be too cold. Our instinct is to protect. I remember a few years ago covering the viburnum tree in the Garden of Hope during a cold snap. The effort and the time it took helped a little to protect the blossoms, but in the end, the decision moving forward was “not to bother again” and let nature takes its course. The message here is that we tried and we can look at our own well-being in this way. Now tending to our own self-care is a bit different than covering a small tree; however, the difficulty of finding the time, protecting, and placing value is real. Cultivating wellness of self may feel like a grand plan that defeats us before we begin, but the key here is to start small.

Spring is so special, and so are you. As the season pulls us out of the deepness of winter, we begin to find small moments of new growth finding the sun and protecting itself during fragile moments. We too can find space in the heaviness of caring for a child with a terminal illness or medically complex condition. One caregiver comes to mind, standing out as someone who looks at the cold rush of winter’s air, and instead of hindering any delight, experiences delightful moments in small ways. Noticing how her child’s eyes light up from a familiar voice, the comfort received from a shared touch, and the quiet presence of love that exists beyond words. I find the spirituality and faith of this caregiver worthy of delight. She was able to engage little by little with Hope Grows services and then eventually an overnight stay at the Iris Respite House. She found quiet space where beauty, love, and presence exist, despite the rush of chilly air in her changing climate.

In this experience, I believe the message for delight is to capture the good, not the bad. Moments of grace do not remove the sorrow, but they offer a breath within it. Try to find grace in the way your child’s hand feels in yours, in the rhythm of their breathing as they rest, in the way light filters through the window onto their face. Or it might be in the kindness of a nurse who truly sees you, in a deep inhale of fresh air when you step outside, in the way a favorite scent or texture momentarily eases the tension in your body. Another small moment is allowing yourself time to breath, leaning into support, or acknowledging the depth of what you carry.

Capturing the good does not mean pretending the bad is not there. It means allowing the small, good moments to matter—to be noticed, to be felt, even if just for a few seconds. Maybe write them down in a notebook, whisper them in gratitude before bed, or simply let yourself linger in them when they happen. Just as in nature, capture the spring blossoms in small moments of delight. While the chilly air is real, I suggest choosing to notice the beauty in front of you. As fleeting as it might be, “nature is one place we can surrender all control.”

Tending to your own well-being in this space might look different than it does for others. It is not about forcing joy but recognizing that even in sorrow, there can be moments of grace. Those moments, however small, can feel like life is whispering to you. Start with “just 10 minutes” at a time – such an honest, raw way to frame pleasant moments – because when life is this heavy, sometimes that is all you can hold, “just 10 minutes.” Grace makes room for delight—not as something forced or artificial, but as something quiet and real.

Connect in the delight of the reciprocal relationship!

Written by Lisa Story, MSCP, LPC, CT
Founder & Clinical Director

Held in the In-Between: Life, Death, and the Spring Equinox

Amy Oledzki on March 17, 2025

In early spring, each sunbreak graces our shoulders like an unexpected gift—a warm hug from Mother Nature, thawing our wintered hearts. The first warmth of spring is startling, isn’t it? It’s surprising to feel sun-kissed when we’ve grown accustomed to being chilled.

The Spring equinox teeters between almost and not yet. It is the beginning of spring, but the evidence of season’s change can be elusive. Over the last 30 years, the daily temperature in the Pittsburgh area during the month of March averaged 40 degrees – not a temperature that evokes springtime feelings for me. The equinox is positioned directly between the icy cold of winter and the thawing warmth of spring. This seems right to me. Real life exists and grows in the tension of “and.”

Recently, as I watched my little Hunt Terrier, Basil, doze in a warm sunspot, I was reminded of another moment when the sun’s warmth took me by surprise. It was my mom’s birthday, 5 years ago. I was visiting her grave nearly six years after my season of caregiving for her had transitioned to the grief of losing her. I brought some trash bags to protect the blankets I would sit on from the wet ground so I could sit and stay a while, even in the rain. As soon as I laid them out and sat down to arrange her birthday flowers, the solid gray sky broke directly above her headstone and warm sun lingered on my back for a minute or two. Pure gift. I remain convinced that it was my mom somehow greeting me there, hugging me hello.

That day in the cemetery was neither cold nor warm, dark nor light, happy or sad. Everything coexisted. This is part of the Equinox—a day when light and darkness are perfectly balanced, offering us a glimpse of both/and in place of either/or.

The sprawling clouds moved quickly that day in the cemetery; their formations and layers made a kaleidoscope of the sky. The thin places between them stretched into wide expanses of blue.

I wished a thin place would open where I could meet with my mom in the light of day…

In that space, sitting beside the headstone that bears her name, I felt closer to her, though her essence does not reside there. I think when I am there, I am more astutely aware of the part of her that lives in me. The life she lived is part of me, as is the death she died. Her life is interlaced with mine in inextricable ways, and maybe I simply feel that more tangibly there. It’s a liminal space, and the between-seasons day made it feel even more so.

The birds sang and flitted about without ceasing, and I recall thinking: This holding space for the dead is so full of life. The branches on hundreds of trees were waking to spring’s rousing. Blossoms popped out of winter-soaked soil. Lush blades of green pushed through the brown ground. Soil is alive, you know, teeming with organisms. It’s like the skin of the earth, in a constant process of regeneration. Life and death happen beneath the ground we walk on, in a cyclical process, in every moment. So much life springs from death…

I am deeply grateful that new life grows as a byproduct of death. The grief I felt that day in the cemetery, that I still feel when the missing hits me afresh, is evidence of great love. And where there is love, there can always be new life and beauty and wonder. That is the mystery of Love–it is regenerative even in the places that seem exempt from the promise of new life…

The sunbreak in the cemetery didn’t last long. The sky was quickly hidden again behind a wall of gray. A storm was moving in quickly… yet almost imperceptibly. The sky changed in mere minutes.

Grief moves like the shifting sky—arriving and receding without warning.

But so does a sunbreak…

So does love. It can cause new life to spring up in a moment and forever change the landscape of a soul.

A mix of sun and clouds, showers and hail, light and dark, calm and chaos. Yeah. That day felt a little like me. And a little like my mom. It felt real.

Winter can lull us into a muted reality. As we huddle and hide indoors to escape the colder, darker days, we can become accustomed to living our lives in a state of perpetual winter. Cold, lonely, protected, insulated… Our pace of life allows most of us to get away with it, too. We play nice and live hidden amid community. Because it is terribly vulnerable to bloom. It’s so much easier to flash-freeze our feelings and store them away, far from the surface. So much easier to hold our souls as prisoners in a forced hibernation, rarely letting them up for air.

But the equinox arrives with an invitation to move toward the light, to venture out beyond ourselves, so we might embrace all that coexists within and around us.

Here at Hope Grows, we are immersed in the constant cycle of growth, death, and regeneration in our gardens. We bear witness to the quiet wisdom of the seasons—how they teach us to embrace both the light and the dark, the fullness and the loss. The equinox stands in perfect balance, reminding us that transition is a natural and necessary part of life.

As we step into spring, may we allow ourselves to stand in that in-between space, honoring both grief and growth, sorrow and renewal. May we welcome the light as we remember the lessons we’ve learned in the dark, knowing that both have their place in the story of our lives. And as the days stretch longer, may we, too, stretch toward the warmth, allowing love and gratitude to take root and bloom in and around us.

May hope grow wildly in your hearts this spring.

Written by Laura Gamble
Clinical Administrative Coordinator

Be Present | Being an Opportunist

Amy Oledzki on November 4, 2024

If only we could be in the moment or be present all the time; better yet, take advantage of opportunities that we are given. I don’t know how many times (most likely quite a few) I’ve missed seizing the moment – I’m sure, at the time, all for good reason. I can remember NOT heeding the moment to exercise, answering a friend’s call, ending my work day on time, taking “just 10 minutes” to meditate, breathe or just relax, or, my favorite, go outside in nature for a walk.

It is completely valid to feel frustrated when we don’t seize the moment. We mentally surrender to a place of allowing ourselves to feel badly about it. Then a cyclical pattern of self-loathing occurs, stifling another chance to engage in some other opportunity. GEEZ! What the heck!

Why do we let this happen? Why can’t we just accept that it is “okay” that we missed an opportunity and move on? I think some days it’s easier than others, but when it is difficult, what can we do?

ACCEPTANCE is one way. When we accept, we can appreciate the moment or take advantage of the mindful opportunities presented to us daily. In doing this, it creates a state of awareness that helps us recognize opportunities as they arise. As an example: being present in a conversation might help us notice a potential collaboration or a new idea, thus having the two sides of the conversation complement each other when balanced effectively.

It’s too bad our politicians can’t seem to do this. What a great way to take advantage of bipartisan work: finding common ground through collaborative communication and compromise, for the people. Sorry to bring politics into this, but we are approaching election day and I know that it is weighing on everyone’s mind.

I still ponder the reason acceptance is difficult. Maybe it is because of the confusable similar pronunciation of the word of except, which actually means to exclude. Nonetheless, acceptance is needed to take advantage of opportunities, such as choosing to express appreciation for the people in your life. Another example is being an opportunist on thankfulness with those you cross paths with as you shop, pray, and interact within your community. Another one is taking advantage of the few sunny, warm days we have left this fall season.

While these few things may seem easy in seizing the day, there are harder ones to consider. The election outcome may be a bit harder, as one side of the aisle is going to have to get to a place of acceptance. There are other ones that are bit more difficult and strenuous, such as losing someone to death. Loss of a loved one is at the top of the most painful and emotionally charged events. Acceptance is key.

Accepting the reality of someone’s death is difficult? All for good reason! DENIAL. It creeps in and grows like a bad weed. Denial is a defense mechanism. We often hear the words, “I just can’t believe he/she died.” Denial is there to protect our mental and emotional self from pain. While protecting ourselves might appear a good thing (after all, no one wants to feel pain), it ends up prolonging the deep pain of our loss.

Applying acceptance from a more fundamental approach may be what is needed. This approach is Radical Acceptance. It can be defined as the ability to accept situations that are out of our control without judgment. Seriously? What is the benefit in doing this? Well, our pain and suffering can be reduced. If we can accept the reality of the situation and not ruminate over the emotional reaction to it, we can begin to look at seizing other opportunities much quicker.

The opportunity of radically accepting the death of a loved one helps us to evolve in life and find joy in the small things again. This is hard, I know, but keep in mind that by not judging the situation does not mean that we are approving of it.

The emotional reaction to my dad’s death was intense and painful, and I didn’t approve of losing him. I just didn’t dwell on the emotion of it for long periods of time. I’ll be the first to admit that with grief came a lot of evaluating of my life and the processing of the pain was emotional and necessary to get to the healing. Also, just because there was deep pain didn’t mean that I didn’t accept. It would be like walking through rain and not expecting to get wet. You have to accept that you are going to get wet and then go through it to get to a place of feeling protected. In those moments of getting wet, I elected to focus on accepting his loss and while I cried – and yes, at times, sobbed – I still took advantage of opportunities that filled my soul with joy.

Sometimes radical acceptance of our loved one’s death is needed. This helps with evolving and living again, reducing our sadness and finding new purpose and meaning. Sounds like a tall order, but it is a part of taking advantage of the opportunity for healing, regardless of how painful it is. If grief continues for an unusually long period of time, there may be other factors that are causing grief to be prolonged. It may be time to seek a grief therapist. Consider us for your journey of grief and loss through our Root of Good Care Counseling practice, a counseling program under the mission of Hope Grows.

I’ll leave you with one last thought: Gratitude and Giving of Self! Without it, our brains struggle when painful grief sets in. Consider volunteer work while you are mourning a loss. It is a direct shot of dopamine, oxytocin, and serotonin, the neurons that helps us feel better, “the good feelings.” Our brains were designed, by a natural path, that rewards us with good feelings when we do what it takes to promote the survival of our genes. When we do this, we tend to repeat acts of altruistic giving of self because of the hits of healthy neurons our brains receive.

Happy Thanksgiving, and Carpe Diem!

Written by Lisa Story, MSCP, LPC, CT
Hope Grows Founder & Clinical Director

Growth

Amy Oledzki on August 6, 2024

August is typically a productive month in the gardens, with many plants reaching their peak growth and yielding a bountiful harvest. Right now, watering, weeding, and deadheading is what August is all about in the any garden, and certainly at the Healing Gardens at the Iris Respite House.

Continuing to keep up with what nature is NOT providing us right now has resulted in round-the-clock watering. It has become a challenge, but a necessary challenge that gardeners must endure when nature doesn’t cooperate with what the growing season needs.

“Is it worth it?” mumbles the gardener’s pure exhaustion. Hints of learning and implementing a rain dance surface with a constant check of the weather app to learn of any new weather patterns that may inspire a reprieve.

Negative thoughts start and another question ensues: “What is nature trying to teach within all of this oppressive heat and dry temps?” The response is resistance and the uttered word is just “Ugh!”

Stop. Don’t bring that energy into the gardens – reframe to a positive outlook and repeat, “I can handle this, and it will rain.” Mindset! Shift the focus of control! Look at what is resilient, beautiful, and still growing. The fresh herbs, the flowers for cutting, and the produce.

I begin to water again, pull some weeds, clean the flower beds, and water again. Despite the struggle, the flowers look great. I focus on the extra attention of the watering and think about night fall providing the needed respite. Positive thoughts continue. When the sun rises the next day, new growth will be noticed. Ahhh, hope!

Faith is restored. The flowers and plants rebound overnight and the cycle continues. I notice the trees though; they are losing leaves as if the autumn season has already begun. No. Focus on the positive: the trees will sustain. Back to watering and the continued support, which is crucial, along with the weeding and deadheading and the pest and disease management.

Sounds relentless, right? Sometimes life struggles are, too. Understanding growth in relation to nature can be a profound way to find acceptance, teaching us to reframe our thinking, and then soon, our thoughts become peaceful and joyful. It is a process that can be applied in all areas of life, not just in cultivating garden wellness. Perhaps that is the lesson. When gardens – with their cycles of growth, decay, and renewal – become challenging, it can offer a natural metaphor for life and death.

The cyclical nature of life is a natural relatable concept, one to embrace as we cultivate our own growth and wellness. Understanding life and death as it relates to nature is a profound way of accepting, adjusting, processing, and embarking on a new identity in the wake of loss. As we evolve from the loss, growth abounds. Like the spent flower from the heat, the attention and support it receives radiates beauty. As I wrapped up this month’s focus of growth, our area of the world received several days of moments of rain. Was it reframing and letting go, or was it just sheer coincidence? No one will ever really know…

Written by Lisa Story, MSCP, LPC, CT
Hope Grows Founder & Clinical Director

Reluctancy

Lisa Story on March 4, 2024

Leonard Cohen, from his song, Anthem, once said: “there is a crack, a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.” I find this to be fascinating. As we all know, our first reaction to a significant loss is a crack, if you will, in our life, and we choose, from the pain, to be reluctant to let any light shine in.

At least it was for me. I remember when I first heard the words, “Dad has pancreatic cancer,” no light was getting through, and for a long while his dying process was handled with busy-ness and avoidance of the reality. While in the mode of visiting him and caring for him, adrenaline kept me going. I thought if I kept myself busy, attending to the family, working, visiting my dad, and taking care of all of the paperwork for him, I could avoid the inevitable: his death.

Boy, was I wrong. If you know me, watched any of the Hope Grows historical videos, or read any of my blog articles, I didn’t just mourn my dad when he died…I mourned my mom who died 20 years prior as well. You see, I was reluctant to believe she died when I was 22 years old and, more importantly, thought that if I didn’t think about her death and got on with my life, I would be just fine.

Wrong! All I did was delay my grief. It came back with a vengeance and bit me in the butt rather hard when my dad died. I mourned both of them, as if they died together. It wasn’t until I let the light shine in, did I then evaluate and learn what I had to offer from my pain.

At that time, I was reluctant; unwilling and resistant to see and learn what was ahead of my pain. Luckily for me, my dad spoke to me through a dream. I was NOT reluctant to believe in a divine intervention through that particular night’s dream. My dad loved being outside, in nature, doing something adventurous, so it was apropos that the dream was of nature. The night of his visit – dream, divine intervention, whatever you what to believe or call it – he took me for a walk in a beautiful garden. The sun rays, the light from it, if you will, was the focus, shining down on me with his smiling face in it.

After waking, I allowed my higher self to begin to see that there was something beyond the dark. I got to a place where I eventually provided a “gift of grief,” as Therese Tappouni shares in her book, The Gifts of Grief, Finding Light in the Darkness of Loss. You see, I had to address the past, the pain and loss, to heal from it. As a grief counselor and educator, I’ve always said, there is no way to heal from grief other than to go through it. And that became the journey of my grief: going through it and not being reluctant from the lesson it was teaching me. From there, my higher self allowed for the gift: the creation of Hope Grows.

So, where does the reluctancy of grieving stem from? Various ways in which we grieve, with the main one stemming from the emotional pain and heartache that comes from loss. Grieving can be emotionally draining, not to mention it can affect us cognitively, physically, spiritually, socially, financially, and behaviorally. Other than the avoidance of the emotional pain and heartache, reluctance can come
from:

  • Time and Energy Constraints: Other obligations, such as work or family requires a significant investment of time and energy.
  • Financial Concerns: Closing out an estate is expensive and time consuming; putting death affairs in order is daunting.
  • Lack of Support: Mourning the loss from death leads to feelings of isolation and burnout. Even with adequate support from family, friends, or community resources, grievers may feel reluctant to reach out.
  • Impact on Personal Life: Balancing all duties with personal needs and aspirations can be challenging. Grievers may feel reluctant and/or think they have to sacrifice their own goals, hobbies, or social life to process loss.
  • Health Concerns: Mourning a loss can take a toll on one’s physical and mental health. Reluctance may arise from concerns about the impact on one’s own wellbeing.

Addressing reluctancy with grief often requires a multifaceted approach that involves recognizing and addressing the underlying causes, seeking support from others, and implementing strategies to manage stress and maintain a healthy balance between all of life’s responsibilities, including personal well-being. This can include seeking respite care, joining support groups, setting boundaries, and practicing self-care techniques. With all of that, Hope Grows is here to support you through your loss and to help with any reluctancy you may be experiencing.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention our essential oil and flower for the month of March. Oregano essential oil is powerful. According to Spiritual Scents, “The calming properties of oregano oil can relax the mind, balance the emotions, and banish mental fatigue.” Wealthful Mind tells us that the oil is “an herb of joy, safety and lightness of spirit.”

Now let’s take our flower of the month, the sweet pea. Sweet peas are popular ornamental plants grown in gardens and used in floral arrangements for their beauty and fragrance. Symbolically, sweet peas are associated with happiness, pleasure, gratitude, friendship, and delicate beauty – the opposite of what we feel when we are grieving. Pleasant feelings are helpful for any reluctancy.

If you find yourself in a dark place and need to see the light, consider the above blog, talk to someone about the use of oregano oil, and seek out growing some sweet peas this spring. Jess, our Hope Grows, horticulturist, could talk with you about the growing properties of sweet peas and I can chat with you about oregano essential oils.

Written by Lisa Story, MSCP, LPC, CT
Hope Grows Founder & Clinical Director

Disclaimer: This site offers information designed for educational purposes only. You should not rely on any information on this site as a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, treatment, or as a substitute for professional counseling care, advice, diagnosis, or treatment. If you have any concerns or questions about your health, you should always consult with a physician or other healthcare professional.

Journey

Lisa Story on December 20, 2023

The holiday season helps us reminisce and reflect. Traditionally, it is about migrating and moving into a new year; about evaluating and setting resolutions for change. Thoughts and questions under consideration may include acceptance of something, processing an emotion, adjusting to a change, or finding a connection. Embarking on life’s journeys, whether in the past, present, or the future, can indeed be intimidating and frightening. Navigating the task takes courage.

If you are grieving a loss during this time of year, please know that you are not alone and the words within this blog may be helpful. No one knows what the future holds for anyone, and it does entail a bit of faith and hope to steer the uncertainty of it all. Loss is a natural part of life, and embracing the ambiguity allows you to grow and adapt to unforeseen circumstances. As an example, I could not have predicted the uncertainty of losing my mom at age 22, but yet, I had to find a way to navigate the journey of the loss, not just from her, but from my father, which I grieved both years later.

When you hear about delayed grief, believe it; it is true. I had the ability to compartmentalize the loss until years later. I thought I was navigating the journey of the loss of my mom by ignoring what happened. I returned to my home in Arizona and went about living my life. I said to myself, “Toughen up and move on.” It worked…until my father died 20 years later. The loss resurfaced and the journey was painful.

The journey of nature is like the journey of loss – the cycle of life and death. It is as intricate and fascinating as a tapestry. It weaves its beauty over time, if you allow it. After acceptance and the processing of the pain, the adjustment of the loss, for me, became a rhythmic dance of seasonal changes. From the blooming of the flowers in the spring to the shedding of the leaves in autumn, the cycles of grief contributed to the creation of a dynamic beauty, similar to the natural world. The secret of my journey? I kept moving and evolving. As painful as it was, I let the water flow.

With my grief, like nature, I was in a constant state of adaptation and evolution. Over time, the pain developed characteristics and behaviors that helped me to survive and thrive in my environment. The ongoing process shaped who I became; all while I was finding an enduring connection with my parents, I embarked on a new life.

Were there disruptions along the way and apparent chaos? Absolutely. Just as there are natural disruptions in nature, we have to embrace the changing climate, and, in some cases, depend on the role that the instabilities play in our healing. We begin to learn of the interconnection of our journey and how important the intricate webs of relationships are and the parts they play in maintaining the balance of the diverse landscape it begins to create.

Death is a natural part of our journey, just as it is in nature. It is an integral part that enriches the soul and supports new life. One of William Worden’s phases of grief is “to find an enduring connection with the deceased in the midst of embarking on a new life.” Conserving and preserving the connection, as hard as that is, can help to deepen our understanding of the loss and inspire a sense of awe and responsibility for the diversity that is ahead of us.

Dec Tree of Life e1702995075655

Our focus for the month of December is Journey, and the plant/flower is the Tree of Life. The Tree of Life has been used across cultures and religions to symbolize various aspects of existence, growth, and interconnectedness. When viewed as a representation of one’s personal journey, the Tree of Life can carry profound meaning in the journey of loss. Consider the symbolism below to help with the acceptance, adjustment, the process of pain, and the enduring connection with the deceased while embarking on your new identity. I was no longer a daughter, but the journey taught me that it is okay.

  • The roots of a tree symbolize your foundation, roots, and origin. Reflecting on your past, heritage, and experiences provides a strong base for growth.
  • The trunk of the tree represents your strength and resilience. Just as a tree withstands the forces of nature, you too can endure challenges and setbacks, growing stronger in the process.
  • The branches represent the different paths and choices in your life. Each decision you make leads to a new branch, shaping your journey in unique ways.
  • The leaves symbolize personal growth and transformation. Just as leaves change with the seasons, you undergo continuous growth and adaptation to the changing circumstances in your life.
  • The fruits of the tree symbolize your achievements and contributions. These could be the positive outcomes and impacts resulting from your efforts and actions.
  • The branches, leaves, and roots illustrate the interconnectedness of your life. Relationships, experiences, and choices are intertwined, creating a holistic and meaningful journey.
  • The cycle of seasons in a tree’s life mirrors the different phases you go through—spring for new beginnings, summer for growth, fall for reflection, and winter for rest and rejuvenation.
  • Trees adapt to changing conditions, bending with the wind. Similarly, your ability to adapt and be flexible in the face of change contributes to your personal growth.
  • Like a tree needs care and nourishment, your journey requires self-care and reflection. Taking the time to nurture your mind, body, and spirit ensures a healthier and more fulfilling life.
  • The shade of a tree represents your capacity to provide support and shelter for others. Your journey involves not only personal growth but also contributing positively to the well-being of those around you.
  • Trees experience cycles of renewal through the shedding of old leaves and the growth of new ones. Similarly, your journey involves continuous learning and renewal, letting go of what no longer serves you and embracing new opportunities.
  • The unity of roots, trunk, branches, and leaves signifies the connection between your mind and heart. Integrating your thoughts and emotions leads to a more balanced and harmonious journey.

By visualizing your grief as a Tree of Life, you can gain a deeper understanding of your experiences, challenges, and growth. It serves as a powerful symbol to connect with the natural processes of life and find meaning in the journey.

No one wants to face loss, but death is an integral part of our journey. When this occurs, the plan for our journey may need to be adjusted – stay flexible and open to new possibilities. And remember, bravery doesn’t mean the absence of fear; it means facing your fears and moving forward despite them. Each step you take, no matter how small, is a victory in itself.

At Hope Grows, we support those grieving a loss. If you are struggling, reach out to connect. Call us at 412.369.4673 or email intake@hopegrows.org. Consider joining one of our classes in “The Joyful Grief & Loss Series.” Our first gathering, “Grief & The Box,” will be Saturday, January 20 – click here to learn more and to register.

Written by Lisa Story, MSCP, LPC, CT
Hope Grows Founder & Clinical Director