The Allegory of the Broken Vessel Garden

Many years ago, a huge maple tree stood in this spot. It was a huge tree and its presence filled my yard. It provided shade and beauty for my house. Over the years the tree became damaged and pests destroyed its solid wood core. A bad storm came along, and the wind took a huge part of its canopy. The damage to that tree was significant and it no longer had the strength to safely stand in its place of honor in front of my house.

Once it was determined that the tree was no longer able to survive, it was cut down. At first a huge stump was left where it once stood, reminding me of its presence. The stump was huge. I never really realized how big the tree was until all that was left was that stump. As I stood next to the remaining stump, I seemed so tiny. It really was overwhelming to realize that tiny me was left where a huge stately tree once stood.

Now the sun shone so brightly where the tree was. It was glaring without the protection of my tree. The rain and wind were no longer blocked by its huge trunk and branches. My little space in the world had changed. Everything was different. Pretty soon, the huge stump was removed and nothing was left but a giant hole. A glaring giant hole, right in the center in front of my home.

When they dug out the stump, they put down grass seed to fill the hole. The grass quickly grew, but it wasn’t the same. The new grass was different from the old grass and you could still tell where the hole was. Every time I looked at the hole, I remembered the tree.

The next spring, I decided to dig up the grass that they planted in the hole. I planted a few flowers in that hole. I still had to deal with the ugly grass that would pop up among my flowers. As time went on, I added bits and pieces to the flowers. A neighbor moved away and left a heavy cast iron chair that had started to rust. I asked her if I could have her chair and a couple other pieces. I dragged that heavy chair over and proudly put it in the center of my hole. A family member suggested that I should paint that chair and make it look nice. I didn’t want to, though. Even though it was old and rusty, I still saw beauty in it.

The same neighbor had given me an old metal watering can. I found a shepherd’s hook and hung the watering can off the hook. Another neighbor tossed out an old crock that had a crack in it. I asked her for that old cracked crock and buried the broken part in the ground and filled it with dirt. Every year, I plant flowers in front so that it looks like flowers are spilling out of that crock.

I took an old broken birdhouse and turned it into a planter. Every year it is filled with flowers. Each of the items in this little garden are made up of old, broken discarded treasures after someone else had failed to see the beauty that they possessed.

My little hole had turned into a broken vessel garden. A garden that I lovingly tend each year. Some years I find a new broken or discarded thing to add to my little broken vessel garden. It is such a pretty, little peaceful spot. I still have to deal with grass sneaking up in my beautiful little garden. I have to get on my hands and knees and pull out the weeds and unwanted grass.

What was once an ugly hole where a beautiful tree once stood is now a peaceful garden made up of broken things. I haven’t forgotten the tree; I still see the spot where it once stood. I have simply found a way to make the hole and the brokenness beautiful. My yard will never be the same, but I have found a way to find beauty in my world again.

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Being a special needs parent is a lot like that tree. All of the dreams you had when you first found out you were expecting suddenly come crashing down. You still have hard times and struggles, but as time passes, you find a way to find beauty in your life. Those around you may fail to see the beauty in your special needs life, but you see it. You see the amazing things in your child with special needs. You shed a tear of happiness when they accomplish the tiniest thing that they worked so hard for. The rest of the world may see broken, but you see beautiful.

Dedicated to Patricia Fragen, in memory of her daughter Melissa.

Kimberly Sullivan is the CEO of the Sullivan Family where she manages her husband, son, nurses, and three dogs. Writing, painting, dogs and chocolate are her personal therapy. She details her experiences as the mother of a son with Spinal Muscular Atrophy on her blog, Please Don’t Pet the Special People at ksully357.blogspot.com.