Dirt Therapy

One day we are motorcycling around  New Mexico,

and the next day we are rushing back to be with a parent in time of need.
Life can really change on a dime.
It was rainy and dreary the first few days we were sitting in ICU.  It hadn’t rained much all summer, so people were happy and excited for the moisture.  It fit my mood but, in my mind, sunshine would make everything better.
A few days later, the sun came out.   We were still sitting in ICU, but we raised the blinds and let the light in.  Mom hates a dark house.  It did make me feel  better.  When I went home that night I went directly to one of my flower beds.  The rain made it easy to pull grass and weeds and I stayed there until dark.
Dirt therapy.
The hospital has walking trails and ponds around the property.  The ducks splash and play in the water and sometimes find their way up to the courtyard just outside the cafeteria.  I find myself drawn to the courtyard.  By the time I am able to go outside, it is usually empty and quiet.  It’s like a chapel to me.

Around the tables are ornamental grasses.  There is just enough breeze for a rustling sound.  The surrounding butterfly bushes are being visited by monarchs and the shrubs and twining vines are full of birds.  There are no flowers in the courtyard.   I wish I had some pansies.  I would bring my trowel and add some color.
Dirt therapy.
We are beginning a long journey with mom.  A detour no one expects in life.   I wish I could undo that day.  Do overs.  Take backs.  Rewind.  Ctrl Alt Delete.  Something.
Tragedy affects people in different ways.  I tend to look for things to do.  Tasks that accomplish something.   I took my bulb catalog to the hospital and showed mom the daffodils I will be ordering.  I wasn’t going to order any this year.  I don’t care for the  yellow and orange ones but I do like the yellow and white ones.  I showed her all the tulips in the catalog.  There are pages and pages.
I see a lot of dirt therapy in my future.