It’s May again. It happens every year. Lately, I have been more focused on writing my book, on my consulting job, on helping clients and on my herb garden. I spend time trying to decide when to make my Moss Milkshake and spread it on the bare spots in my yard. I imagine soft waves of different shades of green instead of brown mud with weeds struggling to find some sun.
It’s May again, that time of year when everything is sprouting, popping out of the ground, turning from grey and brown to green, red, pink, yellow…It’s May and it is, once again, catching me by surprise. My life is filled with bright spots, soft spots, and underneath it there it is, the mud and muck of grief.
I have witnessed clients anticipate anniversaries and birthdays months before they happen, dissolving into fear and worry. I used to do this too and over the years, have stopped feeling anxious months ahead. I have a plan for May 6 and thought that would be enough this year. But this morning I posted some information on a grief support website and when someone made a slightly negative comment, I felt stabbed. And I realized, well, here it is. It’s May and underneath it all, I feel a bit raw. Maybe more than a bit.
In the midst of the rough pain of grief we beg the universe for it to be over. Slowly we discover that we have longer stretches of calm, longer periods where we are more involved in the lives we have built for ourselves after they died. AND…you see, it is never either or. It is never done with, not really. I have a great life, a growing career, two book contracts, wonderful opportunities and a lot of love. I rejoice in how the “children” are creating their own lives and how our family continues to expand and dive into new adventures. I am grateful for travel, for support and for everything that has come my way since he died.
AND, it’s May again.
I miss him.