"What is depression like? It's like drowning, except you can see everyone around you breathing." (HealthyPlace.com)
In spring 2020 the world was thrown into a pandemic and I went to pieces.
Mental health and gardening
My garden is not a luxury, nor a chore. It is a necessity for my mental health. Let me explain.
In February 2020 Covid-19 struck. Except the Netherlands had no clue it did, so our Catholic South celebrated carnival as usual and many other people went on their habitual skiing trip. By March people started to die; we were thrown into strict lockdown and shock. Schools, shops, bars, theatres, all places where people could gather were closed, folk were ordered to work from home. By means of only one governmental commandment (thou shalt stay at home) my existence ground to a halt and I lost my entire social life overnight. I was also prohibited from visiting my gravely ill Mum, who lived in a secure old folks home due to her Alzheimer's and cancer.
Blossom time
Spring. Paradoxically, that Spring was the most gorgeous one I can remember. So at first I admired the blossom on the trees, the sunshine, the suddenly unprecedented clean kerosenetrail free blue skies, and rejoiced in my garden. But pretty soon loneliness sneaked up on me. I loathed the online lessons and meetings, I missed company, my art clubs, my band and most of all I felt I failed my mother. I was not allowed to visit her.
My balcony garden looked amazing in the sunshine. The Pelargoniums were a riot of colour, the Roses and Cannas were gorgeous, the herbs did great, everything seemed hunky dory. But there was this dark Paynes Grey fog slowly but surely creeping over my Eden, and covering me when I sat reading, next to Puck. And it wouldn't lift. Every time I battled medical burocracy, trying to them allow me to see my Mum but failing, that fog got a bit darker. And every time I lost half a newly written test paper at work because of defunct IT whatever, it deepened again.
And then in June Mum took to her bed and didn't come out. She was in pain, so much pain, she told me in a video call helped by a carer, but by the time I had screamed at her doctor and was finally allowed a 10 minute visit, all kitted up in PPE, she didn't recognise me anymore. I wasn't allowed to sit with her during her last hours. She died all alone.
My garden was my solace
Arrangements for her funeral were what kept me going, but afterwards there was a hole as large as the Cornwall porcelain quarry. It felt as bleached bone dry as well. And I turned to what I have done since I was a child in times of distress: I turned to the green spaces. Walking my dog was allowed, and cycling too, so that's what I did. I spent hours sitting amongst my plants, just sitting. You can say what you like, I am convinced that plants heal. Simply being with them, smelling them, brings peace.
You can also follow me on Instagram @songsmith2962 and @grashoffr
