This time of the year is my season.
I am yearning for summer, when all this will be behind me again. But today, I’m feeling it.
The weight. The heaviness. The scar. The cloud of grief. It’s always there, but this time of year, I’ve come to learn over the years, it becomes raw again. It’s almost like grief blooming. How bitterly ironic, don’t you think?
It’s the time of year that spring is teasing us with hints of new blooms and green grass between spells of short-lived cold fronts. The neighbors’ school age children are playing outside more. The pinks, yellows and purples in the gardens are beginning to show their lovely colors again. And the butterflies will arrive any day now.
My heart is still.
My mind races back, as much as I try not to dwell, a part of me is caught somewhere in the past these days. Because even four years later I don’t recognize this new me. I remember the days, the hours and the bitter minutes that changed me forever.
From music, to friends, to eating habits I am changed through and through.
I will celebrate this time because I became a mother. But I mourn the unsettling gap in our lives.
As grief blooms I will look for her like I’ve looked for her since she slipped into her new home. It’s a part of everyday life now – this endless search of her. I’ll look in the clouds, the birds, the fuchsia blooms on her redbud tree… I’ll look for her more than ever this time of year… once again.
When is your ‘season’? What ways do you handle/ celebrate/ mourn your season?