envy/gratitude | Bertram's Blog

Tulip Envy

April 11, 2025 — Pat Bertram

In a garden, as in life, envy is not a good thing. One can appreciate the object of that envy, though one must be sure to be grateful for what one has, not what one wishes one had.

That’s cryptic, I know. Or rather, it would be if not for the title of this piece. Tulip envy. Yep. That’s the truth of it.

I was at a friend’s house the other day and was gobsmacked by the sight of her tulip garden. I stood there, frozen with awe, drinking in that vision. Except for photos in gardening magazines, I’d never seen such perfect tulips, such vibrant colors, such an awesome display of floral pulchritude. To say I was envious is . . . well, it’s redundant considering I’ve already mentioned the envy part a couple of times. (Just so you know, all the photos in this blog are pictures of my tulips.)

That’s when I realized it’s okay to be appreciative, but it’s not okay to compare. Her tulip garden is decades older than mine, so it’s had time to mature. It’s in the shade, which around here is necessary since the sun, even on cool days, tends to be intense. (And one of my tulip gardens is always a bit sickly since it gets more sun than the poor things can handle). And anyway, seen for what they are, each of my little displays is perfect.

Another thing I learned is that what you get is what you get. So much of tulip gardening in the dry high plains is a matter of weather and hence beyond our control. This year, for the first time since I’ve lived in this house, we had heavy snows at the beginning of November, followed by a few half-hearted snowfalls rather than the reverse, which is what we usually get. Because of that early snow, tulips that lay dormant last year burst forth with color this year. Even my poor sun-drenched garden put forth a few lovely blooms.

So, I’m celebrating my blooms. Focusing on that which is right beneath my feet.

At least when it comes to tulips, that is. What else is right beneath my feet is an incipient forest. A couple of springs ago, my neighbor’s ash tree flooded my yard with an inch-thick coating of seeds. I cleaned them up the best I could. Twice. (Because there was a second seed flood shortly after the first.) As it turns out, whatever conditions produced tulips this year also produced ash seedlings. Dozens and dozens of them. I can’t just let them be, can’t pull them up like weeds because some of those root systems are a foot deep, can’t kill them because I’d also kill the surrounding ornamental plants. So . . . dig, dig, dig.

And then, boo hoo, some of my newly sprouted lilies froze in the last frost. Something else I had no control over. They were eager to start growing during the warm days, but the poor things conked out during the frigid months.

With all that going on, it’s truly much better to concentrate on my lovely tulips!

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Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.

Posted in gardening, life, photography. Tags: ash seeds, envy, envy/gratitude, things my garden taught me, tulips. 4 Comments »

Grief Is Unique to Each Person

February 23, 2013 — Pat Bertram

My mother, far right, on her 60th wedding anniversary

Today is my mother’s birthday. She would have been 91 if she had lived. Her life wasn’t cut short, nor was her death a tragedy — she’d lived a long life, and for the most part, her death wasn’t particularly horrendous. And even at the end of her life, she managed to get one last wish — to reach her 60th wedding anniversary.

One of the things so confusing about grief is the various lengths of lives and loves. Do you feel more grief if you’d been together for 60 years as my parents were? Do you feel less grief if you’d been together a matter of months?

I was with my soul mate for thirty-four years before death took him. After he died, I’d look at couples like my parents, and I’d envy them their long togetherness, but then I’d look at couples who had been torn apart before they ever had a chance to settle into their lives, and I would be grateful for the years I had with him.

Despite my envy/gratitude, I’ve concluded that when it comes to the loss of a mate, the length of time you were together isn’t a factor in your grief because you always grieve the entire life — everything you had and everything you didn’t have. If you’ve been together for most of your life, there is more of the past to grieve. If you had little time together, you grieve for all you never had. And in my case, I grieved for both the past and the future.

Many other factors are more important than the length of time you had together when it comes to grief. The depth of the connection matters, as does the interdependency of your lives. If you count on two paychecks to pay the bills, for example, and one of those paychecks evaporates, financial fear adds to one’s grief. If you are each other’s support group, providing a sounding board or hugs when necessary, then the loss of that support when you need it most adds to grief. Complications in the relationship can add to grief because you lose any chance of ever smoothing things out. Quick deaths add to grief because of the horrendous shock, and long dyings add to grief because of all the guilt and regrets that built up. And if you lose your mate when you’re relatively young, then you face many years without him, which adds to your grief.

All of these things combine to make grief unique to each person, but what isn’t unique is the sense of loss, the yearning, the hanging on the best we can until life opens up to us once again or until we find peace at the end.

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Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.” Connect with Pat on Google+