Last year, spring meant new life, abundance, joy, hope, flowers, and a healthy fear of the unknown.
This year means the first anniversary of my precious son's passing. His arrival and his passing.
Oh heart, tremble not.
Oh heart, stand.
Oh heart, hold on.
Oh heart, believe.
Oh heart, you have endured before--
My heart, you will endure again.
Oh heart, stand firm on what you know.
Oh heart, stand firm on what you have seen.
That God is good, and that He is kind, and that all His ways are
well-thought-out and gentle and that He offers comfort when
the way of the world we are pilgrimaging through
Sing your hymn--offer it up.
Send it through the trees and
across the grass
and into the clouds.
Sing your hymn and claim that
Love will overwhelm death
Wisdom will confound intellect
Hope will crush disappointment
There will be a happy ending to this story.
No matter how much today's beauty
Reminds you of last year's pain.
I will not dread the spring. I will not let my joy be stolen, snatched away because of bad memories. I will not let spring be draped in black mourning like a mirror in a house of grief. I refuse.
I will give myself time to continue on this journey of grief, but I will not hand it the keys to my house.
Today, I will be a little sad. But I will not fail to notice the brand new buds of life on the baby trees outside my house, and the daffodils which resolutely pushed their faces up through the snow only weeks ago and would not die, only blooming yellower against all that frozen whiteness.
I will rise up yellower, too.