Thoughts on Grief and Springtime
March, April, May…the time of year when the sun starts to shine a little brighter and the earth begins to warm and blossom with life after the sleepy, dark months of winter. For some bereaved people, the incongruence between the feelings of sadness and despair we feel on the inside and the cheerful, hopeful weather outside, can be almost unbearable. During a particularly grim period a few years back, I referred to this time of year as “the tyranny of spring”.
When a hit of grief blindsides us, but all around are signs of new life and joyful new beginnings, perspective is a blessing. Turning to poets, songwriters, and authors for inspiration in these moments is a coping strategy that many of us have turned to during the seasonal resurgences of our grief.
One of my favourite writers, Barbara Kingsolver (who counts among her own losses the death of an unborn child) writes in “High Tide in Tucson: Essays from Now or Never”:
In my own worst seasons I’ve come back from the colourless world of despair by forcing myself to look hard, for a long time, at a single glorious thing: a flame of red geranium outside my bedroom window. And then another: my daughter in a yellow dress. And another: the perfect outline of a full, dark sphere behind the crescent moon. Until I learned to be in love with my life again. Like a stroke victim retraining new parts of the brain to grasp lost skills, I have taught myself joy over and over again.
What a stroke of luck. What a singular brute feat of outrageous fortune: to be born to citizenship in the Animal Kingdom. We love and we lose, go back to the start and do it right over again. For every heavy forebrain solemnly cataloging the facts of a harsh landscape, there’s a rush of the intuition behind it crying out: High tide! Time to move out into the glorious debris. Time to take this life for what it is.
I believe that seeking beauty is an act of resistance: against pain, grief, injustice and all the ugliness of the world. When I pay attention, nature rarely disappoints the unexpected appearance of a rainbow in the sky, a pair of eagles perched outside a church, a pod of dolphins miraculously dancing and playing a few feet from me, stumbling upon the emergence of thousands of butterflies, or finding the perfect, unbroken shell on a beach just as I was asking for a sign from my deceased parents. These and so many other “signs” are comforting gifts to many bereaved people.
When Mother Nature speaks to me with such volume, I choose to acknowledge her beauty and grace as reassurance that the divine spirit is always present in my life. I know in my heart that those I love and cherish who have died are still with me and speaking to me through every means they can.
Just as I have come to learn how to surrender to and ride the waves of my grief, I have also learned to embrace Mother Nature's signs and seasons as a promising reminder of something bigger than myself. My connection to nature and to the divine has been a powerful and essential part of my own 'learning to live with grief". As a result, I can also recognize that there is something larger than the intense moment of pain or anguish I might be in when I am experiencing a "hit of grief". Perhaps I find comfort in the arms of Mother Nature since it’s been so long since I’ve felt the comfort of my own mother’s arms around me.
As Spring approaches - with all its reminders of the cycle of life - I invite you to spend a few moments reflecting on what brings you peace. If you are feeling the “tyranny of spring” take the time and space to explore your own season of loss in whatever form makes sense to you. Find comfort in reading about someone else’s experience of loss; write your own story of remembrance; gaze at the blue sky, deeply listening for the glorious song of the ruby red cardinal; light the Yahrzeit candle on the last night of Passover; gather with friends to acknowledge Spring Equinox; have a mass said in honour of your loved one; buy an Easter Lily and give it to a neighbour who is alone.
Let’s allow ourselves to be soothed by the grace of nature’s gifts that lie just outside our window if only we take a moment to look and listen.
“To everything, there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance…” Ecclesiastes