Spring is a heartbreaker.
Massachusetts was gifted a summer day during spring. As I climbed into bed, there was something nagging at me to go grab my laptop and write this newsletter.
My reason for the extra newsletter this week:
Yesterday, Massachusetts was gifted a summer day during spring. I ended the day slightly sunburnt and “fresh air-ed out”—a term I fondly remember my dad using.
As I climbed into bed, there was something nagging at me to go grab my laptop and write this newsletter.
I want people who might be grieving to know, that even as flowers bloom and everyone happily soaks in their vitamin D, it’s okay if you feel like a pile of shit.
People are pretty aware and sensitive with grievers around holidays, but grief isn’t only confined to days that Hallmark creates cards for. So if you know someone dealing with recent loss, think of them as the seasons change too.
The rest of this newsletter is actually a post from my blog that I wrote last March.
This is my second spring without my dad and first without my mom. While most of the raw grief you’ll read about has eased, there are new moments as I navigate the change of seasons without either of my parents.
I’m not alone. Everyone, in some way, has lost something or someone since last spring.
Grief is universal. Be kind.
March 6, 2022
Now that you’re gone, I know I’m seeing everything through rose colored glasses but, you are everywhere.
In your eulogy, I alluded to you being a sensory experience and as we slowly start to turn the page from a dreary Massachusetts’ winter into a wet Massachusetts’ spring, there’s new reminders of your absence at the bottom of each slushy pile of snow.
Springtime is supposed to be about cute baby animals and rapture at the sight of crocuses and daffodils, but right now the change of seasons is just reminding me of all the ways that I miss your presence.
Your grill command station sitting vacant on the deck reminds me I will never have the pleasure of waiting impatiently for a summer dinner that was supposed to be done “in 10 minutes”, but really took an hour.
Your tools & yard stuff are strewn about the shed. Although you gave me grass-tending boot camp last year, I worry that I will destroy the sod you and I spent back breaking days last spring planting.
Daylight savings is usually my favorite holiday, but this year I’m already missing your texts about gorgeous sunsets over the water, or better yet, the sight of you standing on the deck taking in the view.
Hydrangeas are my favorite. You were planning to prune and prep them over the winter, but died before you got the chance. I hope they still bloom as big and beautiful.
It’s only recently that I realized that you had a childlike excitement over life’s simple things -spring peepers, the change of air a summer thunderstorm brings, the sound of baseball on the radio. I live for savoring the small things too, but right now they just move me to tears.
I know someday that I will love all those things harder because you loved them too.
However for now, each muddy sign of spring reminds me of the hole in my heart. I never thought spring could remind me so much of dead things.
»»Celebrate spring by checking out my journal Lessons from Nature.
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Your most recent article spoke to me, my husband passed and I’m trying to find my way. Spring was a favorite and you reminded me of all the things that my husband and I loved I’ll look for the flowers and that fresh air that I’ve not been breathing. Rest In Peace my dear.
Sending you love!