Wednesday, April 2, 2014

life after death.

i was in yoga the other night when our teacher mentioned that a close friend of hers had recently written a blog post discussing what a tough transition heading into spring was. our intimate class of 5 contemplated this statement and went around sharing how we very much agreed. it seemed to be that each year, all of us had a great expectation of spring: to bring beautiful weather, sprout blooms, warm our faces with sun. but each time, we are reminded it's simply not that easy.

especially up here in new england, we wait a little longer for spring to appear than anyone else in the country. it's something i've talked about before and it's something i seem to have to remind myself when march rolls around each year. i read the said blog post yesterday, when our instructor passed it along. it talked of how spring, although bringing a promise of life and a renewal of love,can be painful. after all, the perfect bud must break through the soil and then it's shell in order to bloom a beautiful flower. this is a process that happens over a matter of days - only if the weather proves to remain compatible - and perhaps, because we're so excited to see these signs of life and warmth, we disregard the work and growing pains that the plant is going through to become something that will be such a temporary pleasure.

if i read back on this blog, each spring i've cataloged the life returning to my streets up here and therefore, to my heart. i've talked of how i begin to thaw my insides, readying myself for the promise of great things ahead that will surely come with this revival. but this year, i'm writing something different. spring arrived just a bit over a week ago and with it came the reminder that this new life inside me would soon enter the world - a month from the day, actually. there couldn't be a better or brighter promise for this year's future than that fact. but shortly after its arrival, much like the weather up here proves to do each year, the season brought a cold cloud upon my life with the death of my gram.

in short, i sit up here in my new england "spring" and aim to make sense of unfolding events. i struggle between happiness for this baby that will be arriving any day and sadness for the loss of a true, great friend and family member. it's the most intense parallel i've ever faced. i alternate between anger and love, and i ask for answers that my 31-year-old self should know by now i'll never get. and for now, at this moment, on this day, it's hard for me to see that the trees will bloom, the grass will grow, the sky will be blue, cloudless and sunny some day, and that my heart will once again feel full. i know this must happen, but like the feeling of bare feet, i just can't comprehend it all at the moment.

alongside sweet memories of my gram that i keep on replay, i also repeat that "april showers, bring may flowers" in hopes that tears over today's loss will give way to an incomparable and forgiving joy, later in the month when this budding life inside me finally arrives. and how glorious i'm sure that sunshine will feel.

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