Friday, my friend passed away. So I haven’t been posting much here, and that’s okay. Some things just need space, and grief is one of them.
But this weekend, the weather whispered spring in the most gentle way, sunlight teasing through the trees, a sky so blue it felt like a deep breath. Both kids were at home, and if there’s one thing I know, it’s that life doesn’t stop for sadness. It asks to be lived. So we lived.
Yesterday, we wandered through a nearby forest (more on that later this week). And today, we went to my place. The place I return to every time life gets heavy. The Japanese Garden in Hasselt [//]:# (!worldmappin 50.93413 lat 5.35605 long d3scr)
Now, if you’ve never been, let me set the scene. It’s the largest Japanese Garden in Europe, a gift from Japan to Belgium back in the ’80s, symbolizing friendship between the two nations. And honestly, you can feel that peace the moment you step in. The garden was designed with the principles of a strolling garden, meaning every step you take leads to a new perspective.
For me, it’s always been about the water. The waterfalls. The koi ponds. The gentle streams weaving through carefully placed stones. Water doesn’t hold on. It just flows. And every hard period in my life, I tend to come here to be reminded of that.
So, we walked. We crossed the stepping stones (some people walked gracefully; others like me, almost tested the water temperature). We listened to the waterfalls, their steady rush feeling like a reset button for the soul. We rang the Peace Bell, because if the world needs anything right now, it’s more of that.
And, of course, we just were. Enjoying life. Enjoying each other’s presence.
Grief and joy can exist in the same breath. Today, we chose to celebrate life. And I can recommend it.
