*trigger warning* ⚠️ loss, grief, language ⚠️


Jasmine sat alone in the backyard garden she’d grown from scratch with her husband– late husband – holding onto dear life the urn that held his ashes. She knew this day would come, he had planned for everything, it was equally her favorite and least favorite thing about him. He was a planner, stuck to a strict schedule, and left little room for anything outside of that. After his cancer became more aggressive, she began to see a side of him she had never seen before. She witnessed James learn to live in the moment, enjoy the spontaneity and uncertainty of life, and the moments in between his plans and schedules.
Wiping the single tear that escaped her eye, she took a deep breath and began to dig. Ignoring the hoe and shovel laying next to her on the ground, she dug deep into the earth with her hands, each powerful swipe into the dirt releasing her pain and anger bit by bit. Stupid garden, she thought. “What’s the point if you’re not even here”, she shouted into the air around her. The tears were falling one after another, wetting the soil below, and then she screamed in agony as her hand slammed into something hard buried in the dirt.
“What the f**k!” exclaimed Jasmine, clutching her hand to her chest and throwing out a few more cusses. The shock from the impact settled and she leaned in closer to...