This is a story about how nature helped me through a grief process and taught me the beauty of impermanence.
The day after my 2-year-old dog Orion died, my family and I went on a walk in the forest. I have had many dogs throughout my life but Orion stole my heart from the very beginning. We had a very close, special relationship and when he got sick and died my world fell apart and my life changed forever.
On the walk we took that day after his passing, I felt heavy, my heart was aching, I could barely move, my senses were numb, and the pain was enormous.
As we walked along the trail, my hands started randomly picking up flowers that had fallen from a tree and, without thinking about it, I had arranged them on the side of the trail — it felt like a tribute to my friend. In that moment it felt like a way of having him close to me in a certain way, honoring his life and all the love he gave, not wanting to let go, holding on in despair.
Crying my heart out, I stopped to sit with the trees and created more arrangements, and with every step my heart felt a tiny little bit lighter.
A turtle crossed our way twice carrying the message of “take it slowly — one step at the time”. We reached a big old tree and I felt the need to create something there.
We had a little ceremony by the tree, a way to say goodbye and thank him for everything he had given us. There were many seeds around the tree that we used to write his name. And it struck me how we were saying goodbye to a being with a new life still encapsuled in the seed. Life and death go together, they are inseparable and constantly dancing in a never-ending circle, alternating who is leading the dance. With every leaf, every stick, every rock and every seed I used, a little bit of my pain was left there as well.
I am still grieving and I have the need to go slowly with this process. I want to go slow and give myself all the time necessary to feel this process in its entirety and complexity. I don’t want to miss any detail. I want to be patient and allow myself to feel and cry and smile and scream and be angry and feel guilty and think and miss …
I want to give time to Time and be a witness to myself. I want to go slowly, walk slowly, speak slowly, without haste … Give the pain time to expand and contract until the strength runs out and gently dissolves into the morning air.
Being in the forest, amongst the trees helped me to relax, to put down the defense system and let things unfold and let my deepest wisdom guide me through whatever was needed on each day. I was not prescribing to myself what to do in order to feel better, and I was not judging what I was doing or what I was feeling according to what is expected or “normal”, because for the forest and the More-Than-Human World “normal” does not exist, everything is welcome — it’s just what is. I let myself and the forest guide me through this and simply accept whatever would come.
I have created many arrangements since Orion died, in random places and at random times, never planned, always spontaneously, not feeling pressured to create them, not feeling the need to arrange anything in a certain way, it is more an inner guidance, not having the need that the outcome is beautiful, simply creating them freely and with Orion very present in my heart. Sometimes with tears in my eyes, sometimes with a smile on my face. The sole fact of taking the time to stop, notice, be and create is incredibly freeing and knowing that creating something in and with the forest for Orion gives me great solace.
In the beginning I felt very attached to them, worried that the rain or the wind or someone passing by could destroy them. I soon realized that the true beauty lies in its impermanence. Everything changes constantly, life itself is never static, death is part of life as well and not the end, simply part of an endless cycle, it is end and beginning at the same time.
Creating in the forest connects me to the beauty of the present moment, to treasure and appreciate what is now and it also connects me with deep gratitude for what is without worrying what might happen. Knowing that everything passes makes me appreciate it even more. This is how I like to think about Orion’s life: it was short but filled with love and beauty and I am very grateful for having had the opportunity to share his life.
The forest is a reflection of life itself and all its processes, it is like witnessing the complexity of life in a small space.
I still cry a lot. The waves of sadness are still coming in, but not so often. The sadness has become a calm sadness, it has not become less but the quality has changed. It has become a mature sadness, a paused sadness. I still feel that void inside of me.
I still create arrangements when I am in nature and the desire comes up and every time I do it I have a warm feeling in my heart, it is like having Orion close to me and getting a reminder of how important it is to appreciate every moment we have, every moment of beauty in our lives because it will definitely not be there forever and precisely that impermanence makes it so beautiful.
Orion has given me the greatest gift: allowing myself to open my heart, tear down defense walls, being vulnerable and understand that there is nothing wrong with feeling. I adore you my little whirl of joy.
* Photos by Manuela Siegfried.