Creating Belonging: From Grief to Gratitude

When I began as a guest services associate at Santa Barbara Botanic Garden 15 years ago, I never imagined how deeply I’d come to love this place. After all, I was a jeweler by profession — working alone in a quiet, controlled environment, just me and my tools. But here, every moment is alive with energy — familiar dogs jumping up to the counter for a treat, kids eagerly racing toward the Backcountry Section, and visitors from all over the world stepping onto the grounds for the first time.  

Over the years, I’ve learned how to greet guests in several languages: German, Korean, Russian, Hebrew, Mandarin, and a few more. It started as a small gesture to make elderly parents, waiting off to the side while their adult children purchased tickets, feel seen and welcomed. Now, it’s one of my favorite parts of the job. The Garden is truly a space for everyone, no matter their age or background. A place where everyone should feel they belong. My German accent has even gotten pretty good! Occasionally, a guest will try to continue a conversation in German, and I have to laugh and say, “That’s all I know.” I’m glad to start their visit to the Garden with a friendly, shared smile. I know they’ll experience more as they explore each of the sections. 

It’s easy to see why the Garden holds a special place in the hearts of so many people. It’s become that for me, too.  In the quiet morning hours, the Garden feels most alive and open for reflection. During these moments, I feel a deep gratitude for our Santa Barbara community, which has helped us preserve this magical sanctuary for all to enjoy. The Garden even holds memories from my early childhood, when we would ride the bus from Washington Elementary School to explore the Garden for the day.  

The Garden is also a place that can help process life’s bigger challenges. Ten years ago, it became a place for me to grieve. During my fifth year working here, my 27-year-old daughter, Anna, suffered a ruptured brain tumor. She was in the hospital for a few weeks, and during that time, we held onto hope. But there wasn’t a miracle, and we had to let her go.  

It was an unimaginable loss, but I found myself looking forward to returning to the Garden. We dedicated a bench in Anna’s memory along the Pritchett Trail, and over time, what was once a place of grieving became a place of healing. Today, my wife, Janet, and I visit Anna’s bench often. We welcome others to share the space with us, keeping her memory alive. We hide small angel figurines in the crevices for children to discover or invite friends who have experienced similar loss of their own to join us for moments of quiet reflection. The Garden has become a way to keep Anna close and to find peace, and I hope it continues to be a place of connection, comfort, and healing for all who visit. 

I cherish the Garden’s continual growth. In fact, I found a whole new love for my job two years ago, when we opened the Backcountry. Greeting young families at the entrance and seeing kids’ eyes light up as I hand them a fun sticker makes my whole day. In those moments, I can’t help but think of Anna, who was so vibrant and full of life. The Garden, in many ways, reflects her spirit — it nurtures, it inspires wonder, and it has this incredible way of making everything around it bloom.  

I feel immensely grateful to be part of this special organization. It has become more than just a place of work; it has become part of my family. And I hope it’s become part of yours too. You — our supporters — and your children, grandchildren, friends, and dogs have all woven yourselves into the story of this garden. Together, we’ve created something lasting — something that connects us across generations. It’s a testament to how this place (much like life itself) grows and evolves. Thank you for making that possible through your enduring support.