Endings

Usually at this time of the year the garden is at the very least dusted with snow, concealing the dead remnants of last years’ growth. This year, the ravages of global warming are apparent in the erratic and unpredictable weather. Early hard frost followed by milder than normal temperature and late colour change in the leaves. Periodic light snow, touches of frost and crinkly ice over puddles followed by days of warm rain. The last of the pansies are stubbornly continuing to bloom deep into December, and I have had some surprise late harvests of red lettuce, even a new one which grew right on the back lawn in the grass, which puzzles me. The lettuce is a bitter variety which I am the only one who seems to enjoy, more the pity for its hardiness. Still, the majority of the garden looks muddy and sorry, with dead stems and browning, rotting leaves exposed without the benefit of frosting or white blankets.

The days are long and dark and damp. Relentless rain and mist make the roads treacherous as we enter the holiday season. Not much joy abounds. My father is still in hospital after three months, and with a release date set for after New Years from rehab, a slow adjustment looms to a return home with a roomful of new equipment and protocols, losses great and painful. A long, hard winter ahead without promise of the joy of bounding through fresh snow on skis, walks through the woods. Instead, one slow, unsteady step at a time, with assistance and supervision. He will never again share in the produce of my garden, future meals a formula from Nestle delivered through the most direct of means. We find what joy we can in music, shared conversation, precious time spent together. The ending of many things yet not of what is most important, love, family, the joy of children.

At the time of the dying of the year, I have lost my best and closest friend, partner and lover. He tore a piece of my soul out of me when he walked away and left. Ripped a garden from my heart.

I end my year troubled and tired. My seed catalogues sit unopened. I walk in silence beneath the heavy grey skies treading on rotting leaves, and wonder if new life will return in the spring.