Spring

How dare it be spring, with the buds appearing and the colors emerging from the deep? How dare new life be unfolding with vigor every day? How dare the slumber of winter be giving way to the rebirth that is spring?

I was driving down the highway last week and noticed the chartreuse. I look for it every spring – that intensely yellow/green color that means it’s all waking up. Weeping willow trees show it best. One spring I spent every morning my third son was in preschool driving around photographing that color- the hope color, the one that means we made it through.

I was looking last week at the creeping phlox lining the driveway and noticed that many more bunches would come back than I had thought. I marveled at this ability of plants to look as though they have completely gone under with absolutely no life force left, and yet in the spring, there they are. They return, they wake up, they emerge. Not so with people.

For the first spring I can ever remember, I want to take hedge cutters to the chartreuse. I want to snip off the buds. I want to send the spring back and have more winter. Winter suits me. It’s okay to be gloomy in winter. It’s okay to mope and feel listless and hope for tomorrow to be a better day. There is no expectation of exuberance or abundant joy. There is a persistent and consistent muddling through. I like the muddling. I identify with the struggle. I relate to the cap on happiness.

Springtime unnerves me. I have no pre-determined coping plan for this simultaneous call to life and my visceral desire to retreat. I feel like a mule being dragged up a hill. I see the beauty everywhere. It’s breathtaking and captivating. And I want it to go away nonetheless. Springtime’s invitation reminds me that I am not there yet. I am not in the space of saying yes to life and all it has to offer. I may never be. What then?

Late last week, I was out with the dog by the tree I had planted for Oliver. And it was aglow with buds and blossoms. The weeping cherry tree has completely taken root and is thriving in the circular garden. I was so happy about this that I almost cried. That’s his tree and it’s thriving. A baby tree dancing in magnificent shades of golden chartreuse and lime green. There were already blossoms in shades of white, pink and magenta. The constriction at my chest softened a bit and I breathed deeply and allowed it in. I let in the beauty and perfection of the moment; the complete determination of this little tree to thrive and the birds singing in the trees behind me. I stood there and took it all in. For a moment, I was swept away and forgot all about the longing.

This is how it has been for me with the grief. The dark and painful moments feel all consuming as if that is all there is. Then there are times that the sadness is there in the backdrop, the stage upon which all the action of my day it set. I can function, and be in the moment, but only through this lense of enormous loss. Then there have been magical moments of a type of awareness that I have been seeking to experience with my spiritual practices and studies for years. These moments include an expansiveness and clarity. Colors are brighter, in a sort of technicolor perfection that I had never noticed. The freshness of the air comes to focus, the birds come to my attention and I feel uniquely alive. I imagine this was what life felt like when I was very young, and occasionally I have these moments now. Yesterday, while walking the dog, I was suddenly present, more present than I had been in the day, or the week most likely.  I was walking and just marveling at how gorgeous it all was. I heard a bird noise in front of me and a red shouldered hawk came gliding towards me and silently flew overhead not more than 6 feet above. I saw the cream and reddish brown colorings on the underside of the wings. I can still call up the pattern in my mind. I have never experienced anything like that. It was a moment as if from a dream. Perhaps as I move through this I will be able to let go of this frequently repeating notion that I didn’t awaken soon enough to the magic of life and appreciate the magic now.