Even in my neighbors' group on facebook, where there has been a predominant silence throughout the past several months, new friends are emerging and telling us about their just-born babies and those on the way; they are telling us they have moved into the homes that have been newly built; connections are being made and plans for seeing one another being etched. I hugged my next door neighbor the other day because I hadn't seen her in five months. She lives next door.
So, it is discover the world season for little ones, field trip season for kids, prom season for high schoolers, date season for parents (is that true? It should be true). It's senioritis season for graduating seniors and flip flop season for all. As mundane a small talk topic weather is, sometimes it truly becomes all we care about. A weather that heals runny noses, dry skin, doldrums, and disconnectedness.
|Easter egg hunt 2011, Haverhill House|
I have a dear friend who is watching her mom die right now. And I actually wrote this post in the hopes that she would read it. I don't know why; it won't make her feel better. I am not trying to tell her that all her springs will be marred by the memories of these days, nor am I trying to say that this is a forgiving season for your mom to be taken from you. I am not trying to say she should hang onto hope or appreciate the tulips right now or any other such babble nearly absent of truly useful meaning. But maybe I'm hopeful that she will somehow seek solace in Spring, that the rain will soothe her and the sun will wrap around her... and that just when she can't handle the warmth any longer, a thunder shower will appear and call out to her in empathy. And though I know she can no longer hope that brain cancer isn't going to take her mom, perhaps Spring can remind her, in the surprises it brings, that there is always a reason to hold onto the hope that she will see her mom again, in brighter days.