I love the seasons. Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter. Each season has its own sort of sparkle and magical quality. Spring makes me think of growth, rebirth, fresh air, and things coming anew after being stagnant.
To me, Summer means fun, vibrant, outdoors, physical activity, and exploring.
Fall might be my favorite season of all. Once the vibrant flowers are gone, leaves are changing color and falling off for a new cycle to begin. It symbols another fresh start for me. All that is old is slowing down and preparing to still for winter. Winter is an odd time for me. I love Christmas and New Years, and a bit of snow, but mostly Winter leaves me hibernating, seeking comfort, and dreaming of the other seasons.
I also love holidays. St. Patrick’s Day, Fourth of July, Easter—you name it, I love to celebrate.
With Easter just passing, I am thinking mostly about my boys. You see, on Easter morning of 2015 after a huge brunch and a few mimosas, I took a pregnancy test on a whim and found out that we were expecting. Easter of 2015 was the best day of my life. Our pregnancy was new and fresh and we were naïve to the future that was waiting for us.
Our twins passed away shortly after birth in August 2015. Every Easter, I decorate the mantel that holds their ashes and I think about that special Easter Sunday where my world stopped for a bit and I was going to be a Mom.
But this year, time has passed and although I miss my boys every minute of every day, I think about the meaning of Easter. Jesus.
Because of Jesus, I will one day get to be with my boys and have the happy moments that were stolen away from us on earth. Easter is a reminder that I was given a gift, and although it seems so unfair and that the gift was taken away, we will still have an eternity together.
Grief has its seasons. Just like Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter, each day in the life of a grieving parent is different. You never know what you are going to get. You don’t know if you will wake up to sunshine, flowers poking through the soil, emotions falling, or grief as deep and cold as fresh snow. But also, just like the seasons, there is the promise that life goes on, the sun will indeed rise, and Spring will always come. New chances, new buds, and sunrises not yet seen are on the horizon.
This Easter and this Spring, I am thankful for my boys and I am hoping for new buds to form and flowers to bloom and to one day hold a baby in my arms again—this time, one to bring home. I might not appear tough to the outside world, but I certainly feel it. After the worst thing happens to you, you can handle anything. Losing a child makes you vulnerable and has made me brutally honest. I have irrevocably changed.
But this makes me tough, and I will not give up.
I won’t give up on my marriage, even though child loss is the destroyer of all things. I won’t give up on my husband and seeing him hold a baby that we get to bring home. I refuse to give up. We chose a Jason Mraz song as our last dance at our wedding- without knowing how poignant the lyrics would be, “Well I won’t give up on us, even if the skies get rough, I’m giving you all my love, I’m still looking up.”
Spring gives me hope. I am ready for the new day.
The sun will rise and we will try again.