The garden is a sanctuary for me. It always offers something that requires attention, drawing my mind away from a crisis. It provides aspects I can use to help Marc overcome his rage and pain.
Watching your son be overwhelmed by the ferocity of a seizure is heartbreaking. If only I could reach into his mind and take it out, putting it in my own to endure instead of him. All I can do is stand in the garden and scream into the wind and rain, letting them wash away my tears of frustration and anger caused by my feeling of helplessness.
And yet, when his pain passes, it is replaced by a rage so intense that his self-awareness recalls what has just happened. Pleading with me to make it stop, but not understanding why I cannot. The garden waits patiently for me to realise what it has quietly delivered, and only it knows the secret and magic of what it has given.
In this instance, a single rose bloom—a colour that Marc finds soothing, putting him at ease as his tensions fade away. This rose was one he and I propagated together, cutting the stem and placing it in a pot to root. We waited two or more years, and honestly, we had forgotten about it, keeping it in its pot and pushing it to the back of our neglected garden—two years, maybe three, with nothing happening. Then, on this day when his pain was so intense and there was nowhere else to turn, his keen eyes noticed the colour. His mind sharpened, his tears, and mine, dried up, and curiosity took hold of his heart.
Bringing the pot forward, we looked, we touched, we breathed in the fragrance.
We smiled!
