Turn, Turn, Turn

It’s been a very long, cold winter this year. There were days in March, as the stinging cold air hung on, and the piles of snow continued to get larger, not smaller, that I wasn’t sure the warmth of spring was ever going to come. There were memories of running in the long grass, sun beating down on my shoulders, and colorful life blooming everywhere, but they seemed locked away in some far off place, where now only my memories could see them. Of course I held onto the belief that for every one of my 50 years, if I waited long enough, the earth would tilt on it’s axis just like it has for millions of years, and the days would become longer, sunshine more abundant, and the frozen accumulation of winter’s wrath would begin to melt away. It always does. Every year. What’s that song lyric Pete Seeger lifted from the Book of Ecclesiastes; “Turn, Turn, Turn…to everything there is a season…”?

But when my 10-year-old son David died, the emotional winter my life was thrown into was not something that held any promises of passing quickly after a few months. There was no regular cycle that I could mark on my calendar that would herald the end of the dark days and chilling feelings. No, what I experienced was more like what I’ve read in science books about the onslaught of the ice ages. Suddenly and without any great warning, the climate suddenly changed, and life as all living things knew it was over. It changed everything. How we talk, breath, and pursue our existence was forever altered. The simple routine of getting through the day became an almost unbearable chore, filled with stress and heartache that often we are completely unable to pinpoint. The things we needed for sustenance were gone, killed by the vicious winter. For many it never ends.

Please excuse the heavy-handed metaphor, but as I walked about my yard today this is what came to mind. As I walked I noticed in the flowerbeds the annual bulbs are just now poking their sprouts through the dirt and leaves that had ridden out the winter below the snow. In some places the spring growth is pushing up within inches of snow piles that have yet to completely melt away. But unlike the season of grief, while those piles of snow’s days are numbered. The days of grief never fully go away.

There are many parallels. During this never ending season of grief, after time and tears have ruled my life for so long, there are signs of life that have started to sprout up in me as well. Very often they too arise adjacent to the pain of my loss. And now, over four years into this nightmare, the bright life affirming colors of good things like smiles and laughter and love, are much more abundant. The funny thing is that with grief, the piles of painful frozen sadness never melt away. They are right there, waiting for you to step into them. The saying “Time heals all wounds” is really a misnomer. There isn’t so much a healing, as there is acceptance and new growth. The pain never disappears like the snow does, but it does allow for new growth, new happiness, to sprout up between the heartache. And if you can be a patient and careful farmer, you can craft the new growth of happiness and joy so that the piles of hurt laying down next the ground are not so easy to see. But, we know where the pain is, and if anyone wants to see it, we can easily lift the branches of life, and reveal to others the grief that stubbornly refuses to go away.

I have been fortunate. Thanks to the love and support of my wife, daughter, and many others around us, we have been able to rebuild our garden. Even though we were devastated by the unexpected freeze of David’s death, and everything we thought we knew died right along with him, we have a shared love that keeps us going. We continue driving forward to a time when the there will be more thaw. It hasn’t been easy, and there have been times when a cold freezing wind rips through our lives, stopping us in our tracks and reminding us that we still hurt, and mourn, every day. Today, I look around and I see all the flowers that have sprouted since that epic freeze, and they remind me that love never dies, and life keeps going even after tragedy. I’m at the point in my journey that not only do I welcome the flowers that spring forth that are familiar, but also I am looking to plant new flowers, of varieties that I have always admired but never tried. There is life to be enjoyed, and new adventures to partake, but we must first tend to the garden of the past before we can strive forward, never forgetting the seasons that will never return, but hopeful for the seasons yet to come. I’m hopeful that spring has finally arrived. Turn, Turn, Turn.