It is early spring here on Cape Cod and the signs of the season are all around. The daffodils are lifting their faces towards the sun and the forsythia bushes are bursting into bloom. Despite the warmer days and the promise of soon walking the beach in something lighter than a winter parka, spring is a bittersweet time for me. My son, Danny, should be turning thirty-three on the 19th of April, but instead, I will be marking thirteen birthdays without him. Danny died by suicide in February 2012, and my life has been changed forever with his passing.
I dreaded the coming of spring in those early years after his death. The cold and desolation of winter better suited my broken heart. I could not rejoice in the awakening of the earth when my son was not here to be a part of it. Instead of a sense of renewal, I felt burdened by memories all around me. Danny loved the outdoors – he loved fishing, all sports, and working in the yard. It seemed that everywhere I looked there were reminders of Danny’s absence.
I wrote about my feelings in a poem, “Lamentations of Spring”:
The sun shines,
but you are not here to feel its warmth.
The grass grows tall,
but you are not here to mow it into submission.
Soon butterflies and dragonflies will dart around,
but you are not here to hold them with your gentle hand.
Now they can only land on the flowers at your grave…
Amidst all this life, I see only death.
Although my “lamentations of spring” have lessened, it is still hard as the seasons change, and I expect that it always will be. Now the memories feel less like a burden and have become more of a comfort. This didn’t happen just with the passage of time, but through deliberate efforts to process my grief. Writing poetry and letters to Danny in a journal helped me to work through my feelings of grief and to start to heal.
Doing things to honor his memory at this time of year has helped too. Each year we plant flowers at his grave and leave a small birthday balloon or painted rock. Gardening has also been a source of healing for me. There is something about bringing new life from the ground, that eases the pain of my loss. I am looking forward to planting a vegetable garden where I will be growing basil for making pesto, one of Danny’s favorite summer foods.
He is always with me in everything that I do. I tried to capture that reality in this verse from one of my poems:
My grief has become a beautiful cloth in which I wrap myself.
A reminder that you are always with me.
It is a part of who I am now.
The weaver’s magic has made the wool so smooth and delicate.
The pain is still there, but it is softer, gentler.
Whether you are still in the winter chill of early grief or starting to find a new way to live without your child, may the new season bring you hope and healing.
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Thank you I started gardening too it’s healing for me I miss my son fentynyl took him too soon 4/22/88 – 8/14/21 💜❤️🙏🏼💔🐞
This is beautifully written. Thank you
I relate to dreading spring because yes winter fits my grief better. My son died in spring too coming up on one year. I remember last spring thinking it’s pretty but I don’t care. Still don’t care about much these days. My son died in died of fentanyl he was 33 my beautiful boy Lucas❤️
I can not make any sense of my life
I lost my son 23 years ago and it is getting worse evry year
I dream of him- he is crying bitterly