Seasons of Grief

Grief moves like the seasons — wild, sacred, unstoppable.
Here, you are not asked to "move on."
You are invited to move with — and to trust that every season brings its own kind of becoming.

This is sacred ground. We enter gently.

The Gate stands open. If your heart feels called, you are welcome to step inside

My Journey & yours

This is sacred ground. We enter gently.

I have lived grief long before I knew how to name it.

For many years, I survived grief by outrunning it —
by burying it, silencing it, pretending it hadn’t hollowed out my bones.

When my grandfather died, a part of me wanted to die too.
Not from suicidal despair — but from a grief so vast, it felt impossible to carry.
If we spoke more honestly about grief, perhaps we would know this isn’t unusual.

I wandered for years as a shadow of myself.
I avoided, I hardened, I kept moving.

When my father entered hospice, I heard my grandfather’s voice as clearly as if he were standing beside me:
"Woman! We're doing this again — but this time, differently."

I knew losing my father — my best friend — would bring me to my knees.
But I also knew: this time, I would not abandon myself inside the darkness.

After my father's death, I made a vow to myself:
I would brave my grief with curiosity, not fear.
I would feel it.
I would befriend it.
I would let it transform me, even when it burned.

The first nights were blood-curdling in their loneliness.
I wanted to scream until my soul tore free.

And still...
I leaned into my people.
The ones who held me when I could not hold myself.
The ones who reminded me that grief's ache — the burn in my eyes, the silence in my chest — was the cost of loving so deeply.

Grief changed me.
It stacked itself in my body, stiffening my bones.
It silenced my mind, making creativity feel fleeting.
It rewrote the song of my soul.

And now, standing here in the second year of my father’s absence, I realize:

There is a blank canvas before me.
I don't yet know what to paint.
I don't know which color to choose.

But I believe —
in year two,
it’s less about knowing how to paint
and more about having the courage to pick up a brush.
This is sacred ground. We enter gently.

If you are grieving too, know this:

You are not meant to move on from your grief.
You are meant to move with it.
You are meant to carry it alongside your living breath.

You are not broken for remembering.
You are not failing because you still ache.
You are alive.

Here at Sheri’s Place, you are welcome to grieve without apology.
To name your beloved without shame.
To cry, rage, laugh, ache — without anyone trying to fix you.

Grief is not a problem.
It is a testament to love.

And love deserves to be remembered.

Always.

🖤

Seasons of Grief

is not a service to book
It is a living invitation to walk with your sorrow

through the natural cycles of earth, fire, breath, and stillness.

When grief asks for tending, we move into the garden.
When grief asks for breath, we gather by the fire.

You are welcome in all your seasons.
You are welcome exactly as you are.

Grief With The Garden ~ Spring & Summer

The earth remembers what we have lost.

When the seasons warm and life stirs below the surface,
we move our grief with our hands in the soil.

In this season, grief is tended, not solved.

We kneel in the dirt.
We plant seeds in memory and hope.
We offer sorrow to the ground that has never once demanded we be okay.
We tend our losses with the living, breathing garden as our witness.

There is no timeline here.
No expectations.
Only the slow, sacred rhythm of breath, hands, and earth.

Private Garden Session: 90 minutes | $77 CAD
Seasonal Group Gatherings: 2 hours | $22 CAD per person

(Grace always lives here. If cost is a hardship, reach out quietly.)

The gate is open. If you feel the call, reach out softly.

Grief Fireside with Grace and Cookies

Some griefs cannot be moved by tending. They must be survived by breath.

When the air cools and the earth falls still,
we move our grief with coffee, fire, and small sacraments.

In this season, grief sits closer to the skin.
The ache becomes quieter, heavier, a low and steady hum.

We gather beside the fire.
We cradle warm cups.
We break cookies in memory, laughter, tears — because the longing to love never leaves.

We don’t force healing here.
We simply survive, together,
breathing warmth back into the hollow spaces of our hearts.

Private Fireside Session: 90 minutes | $77 CAD
Seasonal Fireside Gatherings: 2 hours | $22 CAD per person

(Grace always lives here. If cost is a hardship, reach out quietly.)

If you feel called to sit beside the fire, reach out softly.

A Note on Sacred Exchange

Here, grief is not a commodity.
It is not bought, sold, or scheduled.

The offerings shared here are for tending the ground of your heart,
and for honoring the cost of keeping this sanctuary open and sacred.

There is no price for love.
Only a small offering for the hands, the earth, and the breath that hold you.

This is Sheri’s Place

A place where grief is not exiled.
A place where love remembered is celebrated.
A place where the pendulum between peace and mourning swings freely, without shame.

Whether you are planting seeds in the spring,
or sipping coffee with burning eyes in the winter —
you are welcome.

You don't have to know how to move forward.
You only have to be willing to breathe.

The seasons will carry you.
The garden will hold you.
The fire will warm you.

And somehow, somehow,
you will find your way.

🖤

You don’t have to know the way. the seasons will carry you

You don’t have to have the words.

Sheri’s Place holds space for the tangled, the tired, and the holy mess of being human.
No Rush - Just Breathe