Tomorrow marks six years since my husband passed. You know the cliches: it seems like yesterday, and yet feels like forever. I joke with people that I'm on Life Plan D, or E, or whatever. People don't want to hear about the sadness. There's still a hole in my heart, but thankfully the edges are a little blurred at this point. They're not as sharp and don't cut as hard.
Gary and I met on a blind date arranged by his sister, Julie, with whom I was working. A big work Christmas party was being organized, and people were supposed to bring dates. Neither my husband nor I were winter people. As our romance progressed, we told each other we were making our own spring.
Unfortunately, his anniversary coincides with spring arriving. But that's a good thing. Spring always arrives. Dawn breaks. Seeds sprout and birds hatch. The world wakes up and life happens. Winter can bring darkness, illness pain, but the sun comes up the next morning, and the world turns on its axis towards the light.
This year I have a new garden to plan, and new decor to arrange in a new home. New experiences await; adventures with friends old and new; cups of chai on the balcony reading a book. I have learned one lesson in my life.
I make my own spring.
