A Springtime Walk Through Midlife Grief, Loss and New Beginnings

Spring is a powerful reminder that life keeps growing, even after seasons of change. On a recent visit to the gardens at Highgrove House, a place once fondly shared with my mum, I found myself reflecting not just on memories, but on how far I have come.

Midlife brings with it a shift: in roles, in relationships, in how we see ourselves. But it also offers space: for renewal, for joy, and for curiosity.

This blog is a celebration of that quiet transformation. A walk through beauty, gratitude, and the gentle unfolding of what comes next.

Grief - Not a subject many of us want to dwell on, let alone write about, and perhaps not the most cheerful topic for a blog. But if I’m going to show up with authenticity, then this is something I feel I need to share.

Eight8 was born from a sense of loss - Not only from the loss of my mum, although that came later, but from something quieter and more difficult to name: the loss of identity. The slow fading of a career I once loved but no longer felt aligned with. The shift in motherhood as my adult children began making their own choices, no longer needing me in the same way. The quiet drift from people that once felt so close but now feel a little distant and less connected.

Then of course, there is the very real loss of those I have loved. Grandparents, aunts, uncles… and most recently, my lovely mum. I find myself living with the anticipation of future losses too—particularly our old dog Chester, whose back legs now give way more often than not. He needs to be carried now, just as he carried us through so much joy and love over the years.

What I am learning during this strange, in-between season of life, alongside the loss, there’s also gratitude, even joy and dare I say it—freedom.

We never stop being mothers, but we do have to learn to mother differently. I am still learning this, it is really hard, how to be there without fixing, how to listen without leaping in. My daughter once said, “Sometimes, Mum, I don’t want your opinion because I’ll listen to it—I just want to make my own decisions. I promise that I will come to you when I need advice.” That was hard to hear. And even harder to practice. But I totally understood what she meant.

There’s a strange push and pull in midlife, the aching nostalgia for what was, and the emerging thrill of what could be. I would give anything for one more bedtime story with my children, or one more chat with my mum, but I get that life moves forward. Somehow, that movement brings with it a sense of autonomy, of becoming.

There was however one memory, that I did want to revisit.

A few years ago, Mum and I visited the gardens at Highgrove House. It was late summer—early autumn, and though the blooms were beginning to fade, the trees still held their canopies. It was a chilly, grey day but also magical. We promised each other we would return in the Spring, to see the gardens come alive. But the pandemic arrived, Mum became less mobile, and that Springtime visit never happened.

So this year, when the Garden Tour dates were released, I booked a Spring walk without hesitation, it was simply something I needed to do. A quiet pilgrimage, just for me.

The tour group was small, maybe sixteen of us, couples, friends, mothers and daughters. Our guide, Rob, welcomed us warmly. You are not allowed to take photos during the walk, which, surprisingly, felt like a gift. It allowed me to be fully present, absorbing every word, every detail, every new bloom, without the filter of a phone screen.

The route was slightly different from my last visit, sticking to gravel paths as the lawns were still damp from winter rains. But what struck me most was the light. With the trees not yet in full leaf, the sun filtered through open branches, illuminating parts of the garden that would soon be hidden. It felt symbolic, spaces opening up, new perspectives emerging.

Walking solo, I naturally drifted to the back of the group. The unofficial gatekeeper, to keep out the mischievous muntjac deer, preserve the tranquillity of the gardens and retain the gardens vistas. I liked that role. It gave me space to reflect, to wander through memory as much as the pathways.

I smiled as I walked—at the buds on the trees, the fading daffodils, the promise of growth still to come. I felt a lightness, a quiet joy. A sense that something new was beginning, even if I couldn’t yet name it.

At one point, we stopped near the pond, admiring the unusually shaped topiary and taking in the stunning rear view of Highgrove House.

I rested my hand gently on the hedges and felt an unexpected wave of peace.

Later, when I got home and looked at a photo of Mum and I taken in the gardens, I realised I had been standing in almost the exact same spot we had all those years before.

As we walked on, past the stumpery garden, the wildflower meadow, the stone wall adorned with busts of people who inspired King Charles, I found myself behind a lady walking arm-in-arm with her mother. I listened to their easy chatter, their shared delight in spotting familiar plants, and I didn’t feel sad. I felt grateful. Grateful that I had shared this magical place with my own mum once. Grateful that her memory now walked beside me.

By the end of the tour, we handed back our lanyards and drifted toward the beautiful welcoming shop and restaurant I found myself beside the same mother and daughter again.

“Did you enjoy the walk?” I asked them both.
“I really did,” smiled the mom. “I’m 90 now, and I can’t walk far—but today, my legs just took me. Though I am ready for a cup of tea!”

I smiled too.
My legs just took me, I thought. And so did my heart.

If you find yourself in this season of life—whatever your version of grief, loss or letting go looks like—I think it is ok for us to feel it all. The sorrow, the joy, the guilt, the freedom. It’s all part of the process. We don’t leave those memories behind. We carry them with us, woven into the fabric of who we are becoming.

Visiting Highgrove House gardens again in the Spring reminded me that growth never stops. Even after loss. Especially after loss. There is beauty ahead, new chapters waiting to be written, experiences calling us forward.

I no longer feel the weight of grief or loss in the same way. I will always yearn for one more moment. But I am also ready, truly ready, for the joy, the freedom, and the next part of the journey.

Are you?

There is something powerful about honouring where we have been, while opening our arms to what is next.

If you too want walk with the seasons in Highgrove House gardens there are several dates and tour options available. Dates do sell out quickly, so check current availability by visiting the Highgrove House website www.highgrovegardens.com. All proceeds from the garden tours support the Kings Foundation charity.

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