As I sat on my sofa Sunday night, peering forward at the three months of time I have to write and process and think about what parts of my life might need to be reconfigured, the excitement was palpable. And as I sat there soaking it up, I reveled in that I had something so boldly exciting to look forward to. It marks the beginning of something. I’m not exactly sure what…but something.

Though June 1 was my first official day of leave from work, it was a day dedicated to celebrating Ken’s life and legacy. It’s an odd coincidence that they took place on the same date–if you believe in coincidence, that is. It didn’t really feel like l was on leave until Monday morning, when I blissfully rolled out of bed at 9.

I’d walked out into our back yard on Sunday night to look up at the cloudless, starry sky. As I stood in what used to be Ken’s colorful, well-tended garden, a single lightening bug appeared and danced across the yard. I remembered how many times Ken and I had been in the back yard each year and witnessed this event, taking great pleasure in seeing these little harbingers of summer. I took it as a sign: my first day of leave would be spent getting the garden in shape.

I’ve had a love/hate relationship with the garden since Ken got sick and could no longer care for it. Gardening was totally and completely his thing. There was something too unpredictable about it that never appealed to me. Plus, it was just really hard work. I enjoyed the garden walks Ken would take me on, as he told me about the flora and in turn quizzed me on them. I rarely got a passing grade.

(For example, anyone know what these are called? I planted them last year and have no clue. Royal Something is all I can remember.)

(Yet I remember this is a hosta because it sounds like “hostile.”)

After he died, I felt an obligation to do maintain the garden. People kept asking me about it, knowing how much it meant to him. So, I weeded it and planted some “stuff” last year in addition to the perennials that were coming back already. Last summer I spent as much time back there at our table as I could, but it was–hard. In a place where Ken and I spent so much time together, surrounded by the stunning beauty and scents from the garden left me feeling a bit lonely and, frankly, embittered.

But each day as I passed through it from the parking pad to the back door, it served as a constant reminder that it was patiently waiting for me to work through my issues and get out there. And after seeing the lightening bug, I knew it was time. So Monday morning I headed to Lowes to buy the necessary accouterment, came home and got busy.

It was sunny, mild day–perfect for working outside. There was a breeze that kept me cool–though my literal red neck serves as a reminder as to just how sunny it was. I spent about six hours in total weeding and planting herbs. Garden or no garden, I have gotten used to growing herbs for use in cooking–thanks to Ken– because I’m certain it would never occurred to me to do so on my own. There is nothing more satisfying than going out and plucking fresh basil or thyme or rosemary from the plant.

It was a peaceful, wordless experience. It was just me, dirt and plants. It even pushed me to do some yard clean up and de-vine the side of the building from the neighbor’s encroacher. I was in my head, remembering our yearly garden and yard clean up in preparation for summer. In stark contrast to last year’s garden endeavor which felt more desperate, this year’s was more relaxed and a little more “for me.”

I’m not done, but–like me–my garden is prepped and ready for whatever comes next.

Before:

After: