Grief is a strange companion. It can be sharp, sudden, quiet, and creeping - sometimes all at once. And in the middle of that tangled mess of emotion, we reach for something to hold onto. Something that reminds us: this mattered.Ā They mattered.
For many, that something takes the shape of a symbol - a feather, a robin, a ray of sunlight at just the right time. For others, itās a smell, a place, a song, a moment of colour breaking through the grey.
What matters most is not how ātraditionalā the symbol is - but how it makes you feel.
Lately, Iāve been thinking about this a lot. We said goodbye to Jeremy recently - my fluffy orange assistant, my co-worker, my little lion. He was sassy, sweet, and the sort of presence you could feel even when he wasnāt in the room. And now, his absence has left the most Jeremy-shaped hole.
Ā
Every morning, I glance out the window at the little cat house he used to sleep in. Itās empty now - but not for long. Itās been gifted to the local allotment, where foxes and hedgehogs can find a bit of shelter when the weather turns. That feels right. Although Iām not sure Jeremy wouldāve loved the idea of being host to a parade of storm-soaked wildlife š
Iāve been searching for the perfect flower to plant in its place.
Something orange (of course). But also something that doesnāt shout this is sad.
I want it to feel like a celebration. A quiet, colourful kind of honouring.
A bloom that says I see you, and thank you, and youāre still here, in your own way...
Ā
On Symbols and What They Mean to Us
Symbols are such an important part of how we process loss.
They help us hold onto someone, without clinging too tightly.
They give us permission to feel something, without having to explain it.
Some people find comfort in feathers, wings, or robins - traditional symbols of remembrance and connection. Others find it in unexpected places: a rainbow after the rain. A perfect peach at the market. A song that makes you cry and sing along. The symbols that matter most are the ones that feel like yours.
Because grief is heavy enough already - we donāt need to carry shame and guilt alongside it.
Ā
I know that not everyone feels this way, but I think grief can sometimes get tangled up in ideas of what itās āsupposedā to look like. Like you're doing it wrong if you laugh too soon, listen to music, wear colour.
As though joy is somehow disrespectful. As though you canāt cry and smile in the same day.
I donāt believe that.
Grief isnāt a punishment. And it doesnāt mean closing yourself off from light or softness or beauty.
Itās okay to wear colour. Itās okay to play the music. Itās okay to laugh while youāre still sad.
It doesnāt mean youāve stopped grieving. It means youāre human.
(Also, side note: Thereās no wearing all black mourning period for me. Thatās a hard rule.)
A Brief Moment for Memento Mori
The idea of keeping a physical token of someone youāve lost isnāt new.
āMemento moriā jewellery - which literally means remember you must die - dates all the way back to ancient Rome, but it really came into its own during the Victorian era. Lockets with hair inside. Rings engraved with names or dates. Skulls and bones as wearable reminders that life is precious and fleeting.
It sounds a bit morbid, but in a way, itās a deep act of love.Ā A way of carrying someone with you.
Thatās something Iāve always connected with, and right now, Iām in the very early stages of designing a piece in honour of Jeremy.
Something meaningful, but also full of colour and life - a Homebird twist on the traditional Memento Mori I think š
Itās... emotional. I'm not ready to share it just yet. But I will, when itās time.
After the Storm...
This whole experience has shifted something in me. It's changed how I feel, what I want to make, and what I want to put into the world. So Iāve changed up the order of Stud Clubās next design
You can see September's Design here.
Itās a symbol of hope.
Of light after the storm.
Of the colour that returns, even when you werenāt sure it would.
