Under normal circumstances I love the spring, after all, I am a spring baby. That glimpse of pink on the shoulders of trees, bulbs in bloom…even the city looks pretty. But now, but since, but after that…. Spring sings a different song.
Yes it still looks pretty, all that extra daylight bringing in extra promise and extra dreams. But underneath that sunny exterior, for me it’s still stormy inside. With every ultra violet ray brings just another ultra vile dismay.
I feel this, not because I wish the world in shadow and without hope. But because of the spring my man is denied. The overwhelming sadness of a sunny day he will not see. Shorts and shades, beats and blooms, he loved the sunny days and sunny days were his.
It’s funny how the weather has an impact on grief. It’s funny how our emotions are in tune with it. It’s funny how it’s always assumed that sunshine makes people happy. Without ever considering that sunshine magnifies loss. And somehow, with the beating rain and howling wind, things feel better, better because in that moment, the weather knows how we are feeling.