As I write this, it is a beautiful spring day. All of the pinks and yellows are blooming, and the trees are beginning to come into leaf.
This is the kind of day that has always invigorated me. After a long winter of dark, cold days that sap my energy and make me huddle in, the spring awakens me, literally. I get out of bed earlier. My mind begins to clear. I make plans.
Spring had always been a boost for my spirit. Grief took that away from me. Two and a half years after my husband died, I wrote this in my journal:
Beautiful day out. 60 degrees, sunny. Took a walk around the block, then sat in the bamboo garden for about 20 minutes. And got overwhelmed by sadness and indignation. It’s so beautiful out there, peaceful, tranquil. The bamboo is growing, the fronds are waving in the breeze, when I sit at the table all I see is the bamboo, the brick of the patio, the bamboo wall. And John’s not here to enjoy his handiwork. He created this lovely spot – his vision, his effort, his...