Grief and energy
My lawn has become a sort of barometer for my emotional state. My daughter died on Memorial Day, 2001. At the same time, her father's dementia had begun to reach the point where he could no longer accomplish his usual chores. That first summer, I let the lawn go completely; I didn't mow the grass at all. The second summer, I did the same. It looked awful, but I didn't care. And I had so many other things to deal with.
Last summer I bought a push mower with electric start because I found I could no longer pull the cord on our other one. I kept the lawn mowed, more or less, but it was a struggle. I couldn't seem to figure out the mower, and I'd let the grass get so long that the clippings would build up and stall it. This year I can almost say I have mowing down to a science. It's not a manicured lawn by any means, but it looks decent most of the time. And I keep the mower charged and ready to go. I've also begun restoring some of the old flower gardens.
I don't feel anywhere near as energetic as I used to, but the evolution of this one task makes me realize that I'm progressing. I'm not as young as I used to be, either. There's no doubt that grief, like any form of depression, saps strength big time. But we can hope to get it back.