The Weight of Goodbye: Healing in Nature
- Tammy Landsiedel
- Feb 12
- 2 min read
I am incredibly grateful for my spouse—without him, I might still be lost in the depths of my grief, barely existing. After months of despair, he knew I needed something to break the cycle, so he planned a hike for us. We drove to Kananaskis, and as we pulled into the parking lot, a giant raven caught my eye. It was pecking through some garbage but soon made its way toward our truck, stopping right at my door. When I opened it, the raven simply looked at me, inching closer until it was almost at my feet.
That was the first sign—the moment I realized that leaving the house didn’t mean leaving my son behind. He was with me, wherever I went.
It was 2020, and with work at a standstill due to COVID (not that I would have been working anyway, given the circumstances), we began venturing out more often. My spouse made sure I wasn’t alone with my sorrow, taking me on hikes, scenic drives, or even short walks in the park—whatever it took to get me out of the house and lighten the weight I was carrying. We picked up some crampons you can find here https://amzn.to/4jXQr1G and some hiking sticks you can find here https://amzn.to/3EzWhWR
Thus began my healing, albeit slowly. Mother Nature became a force of comfort, easing my pain in ways I couldn’t put into words. The fresh air, the quiet rustling of trees, the stillness of a mountain trail—it all worked to make things feel just a little bit lighter. My asthma often forced us to rest, worsened by the fact that I had started smoking again after Dakota’s passing. But still, we kept going. Each time we stepped into nature, I found something—a sign, a feeling, a presence—that reminded me my son was with me.
Of course, the weight of his absence never fully lifted. But in those moments, I could feel him in my heart, my mind, and my soul. And sometimes, just sometimes, that was enough to bring me a sense of contentment. Nature, with all its beauty and stillness, became a place of solace—a place where healing, though slow, had finally begun.
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