I’m convinced that Spring is broken. While a rainy April isn’t unusual, the rain around here has been more like sleet, with intermittent bouts of snow showers. One day we started with snow; then it warmed up so the snow melted and the sun came out; then it snowed again before the sun came back out. Spring needs medication.

Today is the anniversary of my dad’s death. It’s strange. We didn’t live in the same town, so NOT seeing him isn’t the weird part. It’s when I remember that I won’t see him again. That he isn’t at home with my mom, sitting in his recliner with a dog on his lap. That he isn’t somewhere laughing at his own jokes or arguing with the tv. That he isn’t just a call away if I needed him. Not that we talked on the phone much. He didn’t like it. If he ever answered the phone, we knew mom wasn’t available, and he’d start the call with, “sorry, honey, but your mom’s not home.” Or if it was his birthday or Father’s Day, he’d talk for a minute and then say, “ok, here’s your mom,” even if we didn’t ask to talk to her. It was kind of funny, actually, and kind of endearing. He just assumed mom trumped him when it came to conversation. But if we were in trouble or needed something, he would be there. And that was comforting to know. It doesn’t matter how old you get; you still feel like a kid around your parents. If they’re around, you know someone always has your back. I’m glad my mom has been doing well on her own, but I know she misses him. She said it’s hardest at night. I get that. Heartaches weigh heaviest in the darkness.

I’m thankful for the dulling effects of time. How it makes us get used to life’s voids. How it presses on relentlessly, sometimes dragging us along, sometimes pushing us forward. It’s good to keep going. Spring is reminder of how crazy life can be. Warm and cold, dark and light, often all at once. And yet somehow the flowers come through.