Miracles in Springtime
They are always there.
I slowed at the intersection light; the morning sun poured in through the Jeep’s windows.
“I didn’t think I’d make it to Spring. To see the colors again.”
I looked over to him, “Really?”
His statement took me aback, but I shouldn’t have been after the most recent PET scans revealed a devastating reality.
We were running out of time.
“Yeah. To see the grass green again will be nice.”
I patted his knee. “It will. Maybe we can take the office chair out in the garage, and you can people watch when it warms up.”
“Yeah! That sounds like a good plan.”
“Well, every day is now a bonus day.”
“It is.” Dad looked out the window.
“We did get our miracle.”
Dad cleared his throat and nodded.
The light turned green; I pushed down the gas pedal and turned the steering wheel. Three more sessions of radiation to go, and Dad would ring the bell once again.
Spring is a time for growth and rebirth.
Dormant life stirs beneath the soil.
Miracles are whispered and manifested.
One thousand prayers fell from my lips during those months.
Another season has come and gone.
Spring is here with all her hope and growth.
Each day, week, month, and season I had with Dad was exceptional.
I absorbed every word, breath, and emotion, moments unable to be captured with a camera, but my body remembers even when my mind does not.
His lilac tree in our front yard has buds on the delicate branches. We look forward to seeing what colors bloom. Dad is one with the soil and the roots, and I wonder which color he chose for the flowers: purple or pink? When I sprinkled his ashes before planting the tree, my tears fell into the hole and soaked into the ash and dirt.
Bittersweet.
Poetic.
He is part of the growth and rebirth.
He is the love and nutrients.
He is the hope and joy.
The complexities of grief weave through my soul, and I allow them to become part of me. Some willingly, some defiantly.
Just as Dad did.
Springtime is magical.
It’s nature’s beautiful miracles, some we hardly notice but are there.
I notice them more. I’ve learned to slow down and watch life unfold.
I am not sad today but filled with delight and wonderment.
Dad told me to laugh and smile, that life is too short to be so serious.
So I am making a Scandinavian Spring feast, windows open, filling my lungs with the crisp but reinvigorated March air, and giving gratitude to my ancestors. I will beam at my dad while in the kitchen; I know he watches me cook, and I will immerse my heart in all the love.
In the words of my incredible Pops, “Skol!”
