I recently decided to take a hiatus from my job. Actually, it was more a passion than it was a job. I had the privilege of helping to turn victims of sexual assault into survivors. At all hours of the day and night, they came, every age, from every walk of life, to find a way to make sense of what happened and learn how to move forward. Always, I assured them they had done the right thing to seek treatment. They could become whole again. They never asked for this heinous assault to happen, but the gift of time (and if desired, therapy) would make them stronger. Such a wondrous, yet exhausting endeavor for both victim and nurse alike.

Assault nursing can drain one's soul if you let it. I believe that in my 8 years of SANE nursing I made a difference for many. For each victim I had between 2 and 5 hours to listen to their story, examine them, gather evidence, medicate them and find a way to help them see that tomorrow would come, and they would be able to walk away from their horrid assault with their integrity and personhood relatively intact. I would always show them every bit of mercy my heart held.

Sometimes I was given an additional chance to advocate for my patients, testifying in court on their behalf. Thankfully, their assailants were sentenced to prison, some for decades--while my patients were released from their sentence of the fear that held them captive long after their assault.

I choose to believe that the higher powers that be led me to this career. Then, when these powers deemed the time was right, they led me away. I believe the universe and my soul both knew where I really needed to be...

I could no longer ignore the sweet sound that sang to me, surrounded me and spoke to my soul, constantly assuring me that I belonged outside, in my gardens. This is where, on a daily basis, I play Robin Hood- stealing perennials from one spot and planting then in another. I dead-head my flowers making way for new ones, create new paths from old stones. Unlike the lush moss that rests along the edges of the path to my cottage, I waste no time standing still. Spade and shovel in hand, I dig through the soil as I feed my soul.

While I initially thought tending my gardens was simply a release for me, now I am certain; ours is a symbiotic relationship. We truly care for one another. How could anything be and feel this beautiful?

Each evening I hear another calling. It is my husband Will, reminding me that it is dark outside and I need to say good night to my gardens. Regretfully, another day spent in the only heaven I know must come to an end. Likewise, this blogpost must also come to an end.. but not really an absolute end. You see, like my nursing career, where my former patients enjoy autonomy well-after I treated them, and my gardens that fade and die down each fall, only to rally and bloom each spring, this entry will join the others before it; hopefully even after you've read it, its message will continue to speak to your heart. And others' hearts, too. Lessons left in the soul (and garden) are gifts that live on to give forever...