“Experiencing Grief in Grindelwald”

Most visitors flock to this charming Swiss village to marvel at the mountains, ski, hike, and soak in the beauty of Switzerland. I ventured there for a day trip on the advice of my brother and sister-in-law, who had fallen in love with the town during a snowboarding trip.

Armed with a picnic lunch and a good book, I took the train from Sarnen to Interlaken, switched trains, and ascended into the magnificent mountains.

Upon arriving in Grindelwald, I left the station and followed the flow of fellow passengers toward what I assumed was the town center along the Dorfstrasse, or village street. Being a Sunday, many places were either closed or not opening until 2 pm, which I didn’t mind.

I paused at a few lookout points, but none felt quite right for my picnic. 

A few more minutes of strolling through the village led me to a church, which instantly felt like the perfect spot. As I approached, I was drawn to the Friedhof, the most beautifully kept cemetery I had ever seen.

The grave plots had been transformed into individual gardens, each lovingly planted with a variety of spring flowers. Many were adorned with gnomes, figurines, clay butterflies and ceramic frogs, creating a whimsical atmosphere.

No two plots were alike, and it was clear that this was an active and well-tended graveyard, with most of the headstones dating from the last 20 to 50 years. Fountains dotted the churchyard, accompanied by watering cans for visitors to easily tend to their loved ones’ gardens.

My eyes wandered over the familiar Swiss names like Rudolph, Fritz, Hans, Peter, Johann, and Christian. Many shared the same last name, and I wondered if they were cousins, brothers, fathers, and sons. Their spouses bore lovely names like Klara, Kristina, Margrit, and Katarina.

I was struck by how much life was present in a place that normally feels like deep sadness and an end of a life story. Instead of feeling sorrow, I felt uplifted by the abundance and vitality of the flowers. It seemed to me that these deceased individuals were flourishing in heaven just as their plots were bursting with color here on Earth. They had exchanged their earthly forms for heavenly ones, now residing in a place that is eternally growing and vibrant, never fading or diminishing.

Over the last two years, my family has experienced significant loss, including the passing of both of my grandmothers. One battled Alzheimer’s, and the other succumbed to cancer. Neither journey was easy to witness. We often wish for a long life and a quick, peaceful death, but reality doesn’t always comply. 

That day, as I sat in the cemetery on a beautifully appointed bench, I enjoyed my picnic lunch with Jesus and my most recently deceased grandmother.

In my mind’s eye, I imagined her sitting with me, reflecting on our years together. She appeared to be about 20 years old, much younger than I had ever known her on earth, wearing a darling peach-colored 50s-style dress and chatting as though we had all the time in the world.

(This is Mary Alice, my grandmother, at her bridal shower in 1958.)

We reminisced about the many times we baked cookies together, and how the entire kitchen would be dusted with flour as we made pie crusts.

I remembered her helping me sew my first quilt, struggling to push the needle through the batting until she gave me a balloon to grip the needle better—I thought she was a genius!

I recalled the mornings I would wake up early at her house just to have time alone with her.  I knew I could find her in the living room in the early hours with a cup of coffee and her fiction book. She would always set the book aside when I joined her on the couch, listening to me babble about anything and everything. We would quietly talk back and forth, careful not to wake the rest of the house. Those moments made me feel so special.

I remembered the grilled cheese and ham sandwiches she would make for us after hours of playing in her pool.

I also recalled the time I unexpectedly spent the night at her house and had nothing to wear the next day. She sewed me a dress that morning for my aunt’s work BBQ party that I was to attend—a white dress with colorful butterflies, the perfect outdoor BBQ attire in my 7-year-old opinion.

As I sat on that bench in Grindelwald on a warm spring day, all I could think about was the taste of sugar cookies and the excitement of watching a “new” Elvis movie with her—new to me, though not recently made.

It felt so good to recount and smile over these memories, which had been overshadowed by sickness and family drama.

Grief is unique to each of us, as individual as our fingerprints. We will grieve for different people in different ways. I encourage you to hold space in your heart for your grief in a way that feels honoring, whether that’s tending a garden, painting a picture, using an heirloom in your everyday life, or finding a special place to pause and remember. My grief process also usually includes writing, and if that resonates with you, I invite you to write a letter to your loved one, telling them what you miss, how they impacted your life, and what is going on in your life now.

Thank you, my beloved readers, for coming along on this journey with me. I know this is a departure from my usual travel adventures, but I wanted to share authentically how I am processing my grief. I know several of you are also moving through deep seasons of grief and loss. You are not alone or forgotten. I praise God that He is close to the brokenhearted and those crushed in spirit. Your tears are precious to Him. May you all feel His abundant presence and peace.

Please feel free to leave a prayer request in the comments or the name of someone you have lost so we can all hold their memory together.  I also want to hold space in the comments for my Maui Ohana as we come to the one year anniversary of our devastating wildfire which was on August 8th, 2023.  Our town and its people are forever changed and will not be forgotten.