How nature helps us in times of loss

When we lose a loved one, the world as we have known it suddenly changes. Time seems to stand still. What was solid crumbles. What used to make sense suddenly makes no sense. The pain may seem greater than we can bear. An empty space is created. A silence that cannot be bypassed.

It is in such moments that nature can become our support and refuge. It offers what we need in times of grief - silence, peace, healing sound, sight and touch. A place to rest. Closeness without words, without advice, without pressure. It helps us gently stay connected - to ourselves, to what has been, and to what remains.

We, the Funeral Guides, have now begun to establish forest cemeteries. That's why we are focusing on the connection between nature and mourning much more in our articles.

Nature receives and heals

In moments of grief, nature can be the most patient guide. The forest, the mountains, the river and the open sky do not impose advice or quick fixes. They don't promise "it will be okay again" or give instant "how to be okay fast" instructions. They don't judge, they don't rush, they don't press for time - they just quietly are present. They accept our sadness as naturally as morning fog or fallen leaves. And in doing so, they give us space to just be. To meet our grief, to be present with it for a while, to pay attention to it.

It can be hard to stay in the present during the grieving period. The present itself often hurts - we tend to reminisce, dwell on the past, regret, withdraw, numb or avoid what we are feeling. It is then, however, that nature offers us one of her gifts. It helps us to gently stay in the here and now - with what we feel and with what surrounds us. It becomes a refuge for even the most difficult emotions.

Calm, rhythm and the quiet power of nature slowly bring us back to ourselves, our bodies and our experience. In the immensity of the sky we can find solace and feel that it can carry our sorrow. When we lean against a tree, we sense a quiet strength that supports us. In the solidity of the stone we find stability amidst the emotional maelstrom. A leaf carried by a stream of water can symbolically carry away a bit of our pain. And just as the earth receives rain, it receives our tears.

Nature seems to naturally tune in to our pain without making light of it or considering it too great. We can turn to her as a silent witness to our grief. And even when nothing seems to change outwardly, her presence usually fills us with greater ease and peace. Perhaps it is in this quiet repose that a gentle wave of reconciliation begins to slowly awaken within us - as if we suddenly see everything with more perspective and open ourselves to accepting what is.

Even the body feels the loss

Grief doesn't just dwell in the heart - it also leaves its mark on the body. People often describe chest pain, shortness of breath, insomnia, upset stomach, anxiety, anger, or an outbreak of autoimmune disease at the time of loss. The nervous system, overwhelmed by intense emotional pain, goes into a state of constant alert - the body seems unable to find peace, security or rest. And when the body is in tension, it is difficult not only to function, but to process grief.

And it is in such situations that nature can help us greatly. Scientific studies confirm that being in nature harmonises the nervous system: it calms the breath, lowers blood pressure and stress hormones, strengthens immunity and emotional resilience. It helps improve mood and relieves anxiety - symptoms that often accompany grief. From Japanese tradition comes the term shinrin-yoku, literally 'bath in the forest'. It is a forest 'therapy' that originated in the 1980s as a response to the increasing stress of modern life. It's not about exercise or tourism - it's an invitation to slow down and be with all your senses in the presence of the trees, light, scents and sounds of the forest.

Nature has a silent effect on our physiology: just walk through the forest and feel the softness of the moss. Smell the needles. Stop by a tree and let the streaks of light that pass through the crown fall on your face. To notice the tiny insects making their way through the leaves. Feel the roughness of the bark with the palm of your hand and listen to the silence in which our breathing slowly calms.

 In this silence a deeper perception begins to awaken in us - we are not just thinking beings found in nature; we are nature. Our bodies, like the trees, the wind and the soil, are intimately connected to the natural world. And it is in this connection that our senses open, our receptivity to ourselves and our surroundings grows, our mood slowly transforms, and our bodies can breathe more freely again.

Conscious memory anchored in nature

Nature can also support us in anchoring a conscious memory of a loved one who has passed away. When someone dies, it's not just their body that disappears. His or her place in our lives is transformed. He is no longer on the other end of the phone, at the table, visiting... and yet he remains. In the memories, the gestures, the words, in what we take from him - in our hearts. It is this inner presence that can be healing if we give it space.

Giving space to memory means accepting that the relationship does not end with death, but changes its form. In the silence of nature, we can ask the question: What do I want to keep of the life we lived together? What do I want to carry forward as a memory, a gift, a thank you?

Nature offers subtle, concrete stimuli for this. A feather to stick in the moss. A word whispered into the hollow of a tree. A leaf we let drift down a stream like a silent message. A stone that captures our attention with its shape and into which we imprint the love we continue to carry in our hearts. A conscious memory can thus take shape, voice and expression.

Ancestral legacy in the rhythms of nature

Our ancestors lived in close connection with nature and its cycles. Death was not a taboo for them, but a natural part of life. People said goodbye around the fire, with singing, in the circle of family and community. The body of the deceased was placed in the ground - in the forest, on a sacred hill, under a stone - in a place that was part of their lives. Mourning had a time, a place and rituals that helped to bring the deceased back to life.

Today, we can consciously return to and build on this wisdom. Be inspired to embrace life in all its forms. To seek kind and natural ways of saying goodbye. And to lean into the rhythms of nature that were here long before us and will remain after us - the sunrises, the changing seasons, the cycle of birth and passing. A rhythm that knows death as part of life. A rhythm in which nature offers a quiet support and a space where we are allowed to grieve at our own pace - unhurriedly, with respect for what has been, and with the hope that life will slowly find a new balance.

In moments of loss, nature offers us a quiet but strong support. It can carry everything that hurts us - tears, silence and memories. We find in it the support to honour the memory of our loved ones, to stop, listen and rest. It can also help us to reflect on our mortality and find comfort in knowing that even as we navigate the difficult terrain of grief, we are not alone in it. In this way, we continue the approach of our ancestors - in respect and humility for life, in coming to terms with death, and in finding support in the rhythms of nature.

In the stillness of nature and in the repetitive changes of its cycles, we find inspiration for how to move through grief, how to allow ourselves to experience pain and at the same time be led to reconciliation - to come to terms with our loss. She kindly leads us back - to ourselves, to life, to a new beginning. In its quiet rhythm, a subtle movement toward balance, renewed resilience and wholeness can be subtly born. And therein lies its profound wisdom and comfort.