The forsythia are blooming. Vibrant yellows that catch my eye when I turn the corner, that draw me in as I fly down the highway.
Spring is coming. Really, should be here.
A baby was born today. A new life entering our family. A new journey for his parents and grandparents. A reminder of the cyclical nature of being human.
Change is always happening, we usually don't realize it. But at a cellular level we're always changing.
But this Spring means even more for me, for my family. Big change. More than the cells dying and regenerating. More than watching the flowers come up and the trees come back to life. More than shedding layers and welcoming bike rides, runs, walks.
And yet, I remember this time 12 years ago. The pit in my stomach. The disconnected state of living in Spring and watching my Father die.
And I still feel it. I still feel it all. Knowing that it was coming. Wishing that it wasn't. Understanding that I was in no way in control.
I wonder if that experience at 25 helped set me up for the ability to embrace change. To welcome it, to ride through it soundly, to nail it. But then I know, from stories, that even as a child I was able to adapt and transition. A skill I've honed over many years.
But, it did change me. In a deeper way than most experiences. The hole in my heart has never filled, I've learned how to carry it with me.
I feel the loss everyday.
But back to Spring, and change.
We, my small family, are preparing to lay down roots in a new place. In June, we will arrive and watch what blooms around us. And now, here, as the world comes to life, we will watch the green sprouts push out of the cold ground one last time in the land we've lovingly walked on, dug in and played around for 8 years.
It feels good. I feel sad, and I find myself crying when I watch people on TV sell their house. But it feels really good. Because I know how to hold sadness while finding happiness and beauty around me.
I may not have been working for the last month, but I've been preparing for this moment when strangers will look at my house and think, "That's my house." Because they can see themselves in it, because I've taken most of our mark out of it.
But, you know what? The house will always have us in it.
Dave said to me last week, "This house looks better than when you bought it." and you know why?
Because it has been filled with love.
You know why my Dad was at peace as he died? Because his life was filled with love.
So when I see those bursts of yellow flowers fill the brown bushes surrounding the landscape I think of love. I think of renewal and moving forward.
And I hope there is some forsythia around us in Massachusetts.