This is one of the most magnificent pieces exploring living with grief and pain, silence and writing that I’ve read. You’ve created your own tree of beauty as you bring us into your garden, blooming within your heart and soul as you move towards healing. Your words have created a garden we could all enter as we learn to carry pain, and deep love that is the reason for our grief.
Oh, Linda Joy! Bless you and that gingko tree, your daughter-in-law and your daughter, and your son's spirit. I can imagine how hard the time of having no words to lay on the page has been, and I know you are right: you needed the silent time to find the gifts again. And you have, hence this beautiful essay. Your back and you will heal, and even though healing is bumpy and often much slower than we wish, the words will continue to trickle back from your heart and your spirit. I'm sending love your way....
Linda Joy, Your essay of The Cottonwood and the Gingko is an exquisite expression of love that must have been developing hidden in the womb of your mind during those dark days. I'm so glad it's now seen the light of day and look forward to more lovely pieces. Love to you.
When one is suffering whether physically or emotionally, it becomes difficult to formulate thoughts while simultaneously managing deep pain. Yet with whatever reserve you have this sentiment was beautifully expressed. Hugs and peace, Nita
Cottonwood and Gingko are the witness trees of your quieted voice on the page. Grief has its own schedule as an uninvited guest. Such a lovely essay and I feel your loss, and love.
I sit here lightly sobbing for the loss of your son, and remembering the sudden loss of my eldest son on December 16th, 2011. Losing a son before we Mother’s go is devastating, even after 13+ years. I feel your pain and I love your story of revival as you tend to your plants and that lovely tree. My spiritual name, Premtaru, means Tree of Love, and I send you boughs of love as you grieve and heal.
Linda Joy, what an incredible essay of the memorable trees that span your life and your son's: the cottonwood and the gingko. In your words they become sentinels, guardians of precious moments, stalwart in preserving life beyond time in their leafy bowers, whether they exist in a heartfelt poem or are slowly leafing and maturing in your garden.
They stand for your survival, too—a strong woman who has lived the seasons of joy and grief. Your words will flow just as surely as green leaves will unfold and roses bloom. Sending love.
Wonderful! I hope you'll continue to heal and blossom each day. Monday is a new moon on Memorial Day, a good time to plant the seeds for creative expression. "A softening is offered under this May New Moon in Gemini. We are asked to practice patience and to be gentle with ourselves as we move through a new chapter of awareness and growth." XO
A beautiful garden, a beautiful essay, and a poignant piece of personal narrative. Thank you for sharing your journey with us, Linda Joy. I'm glad that your back and your heart are healing, and that your writing is growing and blooming once again, along with your gingko tree and lovely garden.
"But I know from years of therapy and being a therapist that buried within the silence is a gift. We need to become quiet so we can find the gift, and we must become patient to receive it. When there is no choice but to BE..." These are just the words I need to hear right now. Your thoughts for sure have meaning in my life. Thank you Linda Joy!
Linda Joy, I so appreciate you allowing us in. Your loss is profound. It can be no other way. Be gentle with yourself. As the gingko tree reveals its beauty and life force, I have the sense that you will as well.
I like the hope embedded in your gingko planted it in the gray cold of winter and now thriving.
As your writing energy returns, I do hope your back heals as well. I can empathize; my visits to two orthopedic surgeons yielded no noticeable results last yea. I truly hope and pray you can find lasting relief. :-D
Bless you for listening to yourself in the knowledge that at times our lives demand silence and patience and just to BE. Your grace in honoring that demand, no matter how perplexing and frustrating it may be (and how much you may miss the words that refuse to come), is a gift to all of us who get to read pieces like this--honest, insightful, beautiful--when the words find their way back to you. Thank you for sharing this gift, and may your healing continue to bring you peace...and words. Sending all good thoughts.
This is one of the most magnificent pieces exploring living with grief and pain, silence and writing that I’ve read. You’ve created your own tree of beauty as you bring us into your garden, blooming within your heart and soul as you move towards healing. Your words have created a garden we could all enter as we learn to carry pain, and deep love that is the reason for our grief.
Thank you, Linda.
Oh Ginni, thank you so much! Glad you are in the garden too.
Oh, Linda Joy! Bless you and that gingko tree, your daughter-in-law and your daughter, and your son's spirit. I can imagine how hard the time of having no words to lay on the page has been, and I know you are right: you needed the silent time to find the gifts again. And you have, hence this beautiful essay. Your back and you will heal, and even though healing is bumpy and often much slower than we wish, the words will continue to trickle back from your heart and your spirit. I'm sending love your way....
I appreciate your love and seeing and understanding.
Linda Joy, Your essay of The Cottonwood and the Gingko is an exquisite expression of love that must have been developing hidden in the womb of your mind during those dark days. I'm so glad it's now seen the light of day and look forward to more lovely pieces. Love to you.
Thank you Linda, for appreciating my journey and caring.
Welcome back! You have been well missed! And the beauty of your words are like the ginkgo leaves, small hearts of continuous love!
HI Carole--thank you and it's great to be back!
When one is suffering whether physically or emotionally, it becomes difficult to formulate thoughts while simultaneously managing deep pain. Yet with whatever reserve you have this sentiment was beautifully expressed. Hugs and peace, Nita
Thank you, and so true that I could feel those barriers, yet felt and hoped I'd return.
Cottonwood and Gingko are the witness trees of your quieted voice on the page. Grief has its own schedule as an uninvited guest. Such a lovely essay and I feel your loss, and love.
Love this--witness trees! Thank you for witnessing.
I sit here lightly sobbing for the loss of your son, and remembering the sudden loss of my eldest son on December 16th, 2011. Losing a son before we Mother’s go is devastating, even after 13+ years. I feel your pain and I love your story of revival as you tend to your plants and that lovely tree. My spiritual name, Premtaru, means Tree of Love, and I send you boughs of love as you grieve and heal.
Oh my Taru, so sorry about your loss and yes, it will always be the story. Boughs of love--lovely.
Linda Joy, what an incredible essay of the memorable trees that span your life and your son's: the cottonwood and the gingko. In your words they become sentinels, guardians of precious moments, stalwart in preserving life beyond time in their leafy bowers, whether they exist in a heartfelt poem or are slowly leafing and maturing in your garden.
They stand for your survival, too—a strong woman who has lived the seasons of joy and grief. Your words will flow just as surely as green leaves will unfold and roses bloom. Sending love.
Kate, thanks so much--sentinels! Guardians! You are amazing--and poetic. Love your metaphors. Your writing is inspiring to me!
Wonderful! I hope you'll continue to heal and blossom each day. Monday is a new moon on Memorial Day, a good time to plant the seeds for creative expression. "A softening is offered under this May New Moon in Gemini. We are asked to practice patience and to be gentle with ourselves as we move through a new chapter of awareness and growth." XO
https://foreverconscious.com/intuitive-astrology-gemini-new-moon-may-2025
I am so glad that your beautiful sentences are returning to you.
Oh my--and you are the sentence weaving woman--thank you!
The Magic of spreading memoirs--beautiful
Thank you so much!
A beautiful garden, a beautiful essay, and a poignant piece of personal narrative. Thank you for sharing your journey with us, Linda Joy. I'm glad that your back and your heart are healing, and that your writing is growing and blooming once again, along with your gingko tree and lovely garden.
Thank you so much Karen!
"But I know from years of therapy and being a therapist that buried within the silence is a gift. We need to become quiet so we can find the gift, and we must become patient to receive it. When there is no choice but to BE..." These are just the words I need to hear right now. Your thoughts for sure have meaning in my life. Thank you Linda Joy!
Hi Christy--I'm glad this has resonance for you. That is the best thing to know!
Linda Joy, I so appreciate you allowing us in. Your loss is profound. It can be no other way. Be gentle with yourself. As the gingko tree reveals its beauty and life force, I have the sense that you will as well.
Thanks Ilene--I'm glad it has meaning to you!
I like the hope embedded in your gingko planted it in the gray cold of winter and now thriving.
As your writing energy returns, I do hope your back heals as well. I can empathize; my visits to two orthopedic surgeons yielded no noticeable results last yea. I truly hope and pray you can find lasting relief. :-D
Marian--I appreciate your information, and your empathy! And understanding the hope I have felt along the way of the new season.
Heart to heart….. hugs
Dear Barbara--thank you very much.
Bless you for listening to yourself in the knowledge that at times our lives demand silence and patience and just to BE. Your grace in honoring that demand, no matter how perplexing and frustrating it may be (and how much you may miss the words that refuse to come), is a gift to all of us who get to read pieces like this--honest, insightful, beautiful--when the words find their way back to you. Thank you for sharing this gift, and may your healing continue to bring you peace...and words. Sending all good thoughts.
Dear Wendy--I'm glad you understand that process of silence, and I feel touched by knowing that what I wrote has meaning for you.