The Season Changed.
It wasn't the change in the weather that proved it.
It wasn't the warm wind, melted snow and greening growth in the yard that showed me.
It wasn't the sunshine lighting the night, quietly convincing the girls that it is too early to go to sleep.
Something simple, something silly, Griffin, whispered to me that the season had changed. Your dad took down the lights on the house, the Christmas lights. Yes, in April, a little later this year than previous maybe, because of the cold and snow and maybe because of you.
It was time. The house is ready for the change.
The living room is yearning to throw open the windows and air out the false heat the furnace blows. The doors are yawning open throughout the day, lazily closing (or not) behind those sisters of yours that are finally out to play. The family dinner table on the deck has been inching its way back to the center, begging to host a dinner and the loungers on the patio are winking at sunset, positioned comfortably themselves to watch those silly girls swim in the sandbox. The woodpile awaits, neatly stacked, next to the firepit and the grill is cocky and mocking, being already unearthed, heated, and purposeful. I hear your sisters already diving into the new season with the laughter that comes so easily. Your dad, too, is easing into the season, thoughts of mole poison and grass seed making him smile.
I would have thought I'd be ready too. After all, the winter was long and lonesome cold without you warming me from the inside out. The early spring has been bitter with its chill and I've fought hard to avoid letting that bitter wind into my heart, into that hole you left behind. The season for Grief though must fade sometime and usher in the change to Hope.
Am I ready for that change of season, Griffin? I am ready for the sunshine and warmth that Spring may bring. I am understanding that the time has come to put the screens on the windows and break out the citronella. I don't exactly look forward to the incessant mating calls of the local bullfrogs but that's beside the point isn't it? Earth moves, seasons change, Time presses on and I am standing still.
Everywhere around me there is new hope, and I am lacking. Catching those lights coming off the roof today was a pointed reminder of that. How can something so silly be a trigger?
The last time I turned those lights on was for you. Were you here with me tonight, it would not be a blip on my radar, this changing of decor. Put up the spring wreath on the door, flip the welcome mat, and take down Christmas lights: Check, check, check. But those lights were to be my celebration of birth, an ushering in of my dream on the night you were born; well, that's what they were meant to be. When we thought you were coming, we turned them on- that rainbow of icicles gleaming in the night, that fateful January blizzard and blowing cold was to be warmed in the glow of your rainbow arrival in the dark...hmm, not exactly huh?
Those beams were meant to show our team and family where we were, standing out and shining on. They were instead a beacon to our failure, a guiding disco ball beckoning the sheriffs to our door while we waited for rescue, a matching tint to ambulance sirens and lights, dancing behind us as we raced to have you born still.
In a sense I am ready though it may not seem so. I'm ready to package up that defeat that was your death, because the celebratory sparkle that gilded the house is no longer needed in Grief. We never turned them on again anyway, came home in the daylight to a dark and empty home without you...And we're not going to need them for this change what with all the rays of sunshine that come with Hope right?
When the time comes for those silly Christmas lights again, usually October (we don't want Dad on the roof after it starts to get icy!), I might ask what you think, Griffin, if I wonder by then what to do. They are always on in the neighborhood for another little guy's birthday celebration anyway, so maybe noone will think me odd for putting them up and leaving them on an extra month. Or maybe it will break my heart all over again to light them, knowing you will never see their dazzle...guess I'll have to see.
Meanwhile, perhaps I should walk around the house and spend time with our family. Maybe your sisters and I can dig in the dirt, plant some seeds and sow some little prayers for a happy time to come. Maybe just being out with them will help, warm my blood in the sunshine and soak up some of their Hope, letting it seep into me slowly so I don't get burned.
It wasn't the warm wind, melted snow and greening growth in the yard that showed me.
It wasn't the sunshine lighting the night, quietly convincing the girls that it is too early to go to sleep.
Something simple, something silly, Griffin, whispered to me that the season had changed. Your dad took down the lights on the house, the Christmas lights. Yes, in April, a little later this year than previous maybe, because of the cold and snow and maybe because of you.It was time. The house is ready for the change.
The living room is yearning to throw open the windows and air out the false heat the furnace blows. The doors are yawning open throughout the day, lazily closing (or not) behind those sisters of yours that are finally out to play. The family dinner table on the deck has been inching its way back to the center, begging to host a dinner and the loungers on the patio are winking at sunset, positioned comfortably themselves to watch those silly girls swim in the sandbox. The woodpile awaits, neatly stacked, next to the firepit and the grill is cocky and mocking, being already unearthed, heated, and purposeful. I hear your sisters already diving into the new season with the laughter that comes so easily. Your dad, too, is easing into the season, thoughts of mole poison and grass seed making him smile.
I would have thought I'd be ready too. After all, the winter was long and lonesome cold without you warming me from the inside out. The early spring has been bitter with its chill and I've fought hard to avoid letting that bitter wind into my heart, into that hole you left behind. The season for Grief though must fade sometime and usher in the change to Hope.
Am I ready for that change of season, Griffin? I am ready for the sunshine and warmth that Spring may bring. I am understanding that the time has come to put the screens on the windows and break out the citronella. I don't exactly look forward to the incessant mating calls of the local bullfrogs but that's beside the point isn't it? Earth moves, seasons change, Time presses on and I am standing still.
Everywhere around me there is new hope, and I am lacking. Catching those lights coming off the roof today was a pointed reminder of that. How can something so silly be a trigger?
The last time I turned those lights on was for you. Were you here with me tonight, it would not be a blip on my radar, this changing of decor. Put up the spring wreath on the door, flip the welcome mat, and take down Christmas lights: Check, check, check. But those lights were to be my celebration of birth, an ushering in of my dream on the night you were born; well, that's what they were meant to be. When we thought you were coming, we turned them on- that rainbow of icicles gleaming in the night, that fateful January blizzard and blowing cold was to be warmed in the glow of your rainbow arrival in the dark...hmm, not exactly huh?
Those beams were meant to show our team and family where we were, standing out and shining on. They were instead a beacon to our failure, a guiding disco ball beckoning the sheriffs to our door while we waited for rescue, a matching tint to ambulance sirens and lights, dancing behind us as we raced to have you born still.
In a sense I am ready though it may not seem so. I'm ready to package up that defeat that was your death, because the celebratory sparkle that gilded the house is no longer needed in Grief. We never turned them on again anyway, came home in the daylight to a dark and empty home without you...And we're not going to need them for this change what with all the rays of sunshine that come with Hope right?
When the time comes for those silly Christmas lights again, usually October (we don't want Dad on the roof after it starts to get icy!), I might ask what you think, Griffin, if I wonder by then what to do. They are always on in the neighborhood for another little guy's birthday celebration anyway, so maybe noone will think me odd for putting them up and leaving them on an extra month. Or maybe it will break my heart all over again to light them, knowing you will never see their dazzle...guess I'll have to see.
Meanwhile, perhaps I should walk around the house and spend time with our family. Maybe your sisters and I can dig in the dirt, plant some seeds and sow some little prayers for a happy time to come. Maybe just being out with them will help, warm my blood in the sunshine and soak up some of their Hope, letting it seep into me slowly so I don't get burned.
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