For those who are grieving. . . . . . . . . .

Christmas 2025 was the last time I’d spend the festive season with my beloved Auntie.  I didn’t know it then and neither did she. 

She arrived at my house (as she usually did), late, swooping in, a frenzy of bowls of  trifle, laden with gifts we’d said we wouldn’t buy for one another, wrapped in her warmest winter faux fur coat.  A familiar sense of innocent chaos engulfing her.  I loved that about my Auntie.  I can still feel it now, when I close my eyes.

When the greetings were over and things had settled as much as Christmas in a busy household could, she handed me a plant.  “Thanks for doing today, Julie – you do so well, I thought you might like this.”  A beautiful Peace Lilly stood tall and majestic.  It’s deep green inviting me to bury my face in the leaves, ingesting its scent.  I loved it, instantly.

Following the festivities, we took a Boxing Day walk, just the two of us.  We walked for hours, amongst the trees, fields, river and sky.  I don’t remember exactly what was said, but I remember how time with her made me feel.  I felt free, easy, relaxed, comfortable, like a deep exhale when you’ve been holding your breath for a while.  That was the energy she brought to any space she occupied.

This Peace Lilly now lives in my therapy room.  It stands tall and proud, not as a focal point, rather a warm, friendly reminder that love exists in the quiet spaces. It weathers the seasons, the ups and downs of life, just as she did.  Just as we all do.

There’s a beauty in grief, in love, in loss.

This beauty sits in my therapy room now, letting its energy pour into all who enter.

For those grieving, who’ve experienced any form of loss, I see you.  I hope you can find some comfort of your own, just as I do with this Lilly. 

The magic is there, folks.  It always will be.

J X