My son died in the fall.
When spring came it was a chance to take a breath.
Aimlessly walking around our yard I watched small birds flying with pieces of debris sticking out of their beaks.
A robin displaying his brilliant chest proudly hopped across my yard.
I glanced a green shoot popping up through a crack in the sidewalk. This gave me a glint into what hope feels like, the innate power of a pushing forward against all odds.
Winter is quiet and dark. Spring comes in bright, warm and noisy no matter what our circumstances.
That is what grief is like. Time goes by and one day you wake up to the fact that you can breath again. The season of your loss has shifted. Your lost one is still the first thing you think of when waking but it softens with time. Like the weed we move ahead toward the sun trying to regain hope, knowing it is there.