I am so beyond excited to share with you that I wrote a book – and it’s number one on Amazon’s hot new releases!
A book called The Humming Garden: A Story Written From Loss, Love, and the Hope of Returning Home.
I didn’t write The Humming Garden from a place of certainty.
I wrote it from a place of remembering… remembering that love can truly heal…
even if it takes time… even if it feels hopeless.
Loss doesn’t always look the way we expect.
Sometimes it comes through death.
Sometimes through distance.
Sometimes through relationships that change shape in ways we never planned.
Sometimes it comes quietly, settling into the spaces where connection used to live.
This book was born during a season when I was learning how to hold love alongside that kind of loss — without fixing it, without explaining it away, and without letting it harden my heart.
I wrote The Humming Garden because I wanted to create something gentle enough to sit beside children — and honest enough to sit beside adults — when life feels complicated and families feel so far apart.
At its heart, this story is about remembering.
Not remembering details or timelines.
But remembering love.
In the book, Darling and her two companions, Peach and Finn, follow the hum of the bees into a hidden garden.
This garden does not appear through effort or explanation.
It reveals itself slowly, when the heart is ready.
It is a place where love remembers, even when families have forgotten how to find one another.
I chose a garden because gardens understand loss intimately.
They know what it means to rest.
They know what it means to go quiet.
They know that nothing blooms all the time — and that dormancy is not failure.
Each chapter of The Humming Garden ends with a small “Whisper.”
They are my calls to action.
They are not lessons or solutions.
They are moments of reassurance — soft reminders for children that they are held, loved, and safe, even when life feels uncertain.
Children feel loss differently than adults.
They often sense absence long before they understand it.
They feel shifts in family dynamics, unspoken grief, and emotional distance without having language for it.
This book was written to give them something steady — a place to return to when questions feel too big.
But The Humming Garden is also for adults.
For parents trying to protect their children’s hearts while navigating complicated histories
For grandparents holding love and longing in equal measure
For family members separated by time, silence, or circumstances that never resolved neatly
For anyone who still loves quietly from a distance
Spiritually, this book is rooted in a belief that grew stronger for me through loss:
That love does not disappear when circumstances change.
It adapts.
It hums.
It waits.
In my life as a beekeeper, I’ve learned that bees are masters of quiet devotion.
They sustain life through patience, cooperation, and trust in timing.
They don’t rush the seasons.
They don’t abandon what matters simply because conditions are hard.
That wisdom lives in this story.
The Humming Garden is not about fixing families or forcing reconciliation.
It does not ask anyone to explain themselves, forgive before they are ready, or return to places that feel unsafe.
Instead, it offers a home for the heart.
If you are part of an estranged family, I want you to know this:
This book is not asking you to do anything.
It is not asking you to reach out.
It is not asking you to let go.
It is not asking you to understand what cannot yet be understood.
It is simply opening a gate and saying:
This garden belongs to those who have been away.
To those carrying loss alongside love.
To those who still believe — even quietly — that connection can take new forms.
Written for ages 3 to 100, The Humming Garden is meant to be read aloud at bedtime, revisited during quiet moments, and held as a keepsake for families navigating change.
It is a story meant to comfort children, offer hope to adults, and remind us all that love endures beyond silence.
I wrote this book from loss.
I wrote it from longing.
And I wrote it with the hope that anyone who enters this garden will feel less alone.
There is always a way home.
Sometimes it begins with a story.
With all the love the world forgot to say,
Laura
