As the first anniversary of Tin’s passing ebbs closer, I find myself at the gate to the last season of the firsts.
I’ve made it through the summer days at the beach, cookouts and fireworks. I’ve made it through the changing leaves, crisp fall air and a Thanksgiving I wasn’t very thankful to experience. I’ve made it through everyone else being happy through the holidays, singing carols, holding hands by the fire and kissing on New Year’s.
Spring is a double-edged sword. I want to get through it but once I’m through it the first year is passed and that makes it more real. The sting of spring is sharp as everyone else emerges from their gentle hibernation. Their grass is greener. Their breezes are warmer. Their blooming flowers smell sweeter.
In the season of rebirth and renewal, I carry on my journey not refreshed from a winter slumber but worn down from a year of emotional erosion. If we are considered a block of stone and our life experience carves our statue than grief is a widow’s weathering wind…