Spring is coming, but first snow.
I know that I keep talking about spring and I know it is far away, but this time of year hints of spring buoy me up. Today was in the 40s and sunny. The sky was blue and clear, the air had a softness to it. There is still plenty of snow, but our dirt driveway was muddy.
Coming in from a walk, I remembered a February day last year, a day that was warm and bright like today, a day that smelled of wet dirt. I felt the hope then too.
Henry had been gone for about two months. The numbness was wearing off. Waves of understanding that this was forever threatened to drown me. Everything was so bleak. And then, came that February day that screamed spring and hope bubbled up in me, just a bit. I remembered spring. It would be warm again and bright. Things would grow; green would enter the world's palette again.
It would not always be so cold and stark, dark and bleak. I knew my darkness wouldn't end with winter's short days, but I knew that someday I would stand in the light again.
So here I am a year later, my grief still very much a part of me and my life. It touches everything, but does not overshadow it. There are still hard days, but things are brighter; my capacity to hope deeper.
Today was warm; tomorrow it may snow. But I know spring is coming.