The Weight Of Winter Lifts For Spring

Winter is a period of time that is long, cold and often dismal. There is a stillness in the air. A quiet everywhere you turn. Often the silence can seem deafening. You long for the sweet song of a morning bird. The cheerful chirp of a warm night's cricket. The fluttering patter of the butterfly's wings orchestrated beautifully with the buzz of the bumble bee. I want to hear the wind blow thru tree braches that are full with leaves. I want to memorize the gurgling and gulps a babbling brook makes, as the ice begins to melt and water flows free again. I want to gaze at the glow of the moon. Watch it cast a familiar shadow off a freshly cut lawn. If I close my eyes, I can almost see it. I can almost hear it. I can almost smell it. Spring awakens the senses. I believed that Spring may awaken the heart as well.

I enjoy all 4 seasons and I feel each seasonal change brings it's own blessings, as well as curses. The calm tranquility of winter can be peaceful, but it's time to covet Spring. We are eager for the weight of snow to be lifted. In it's place, Spring. With it, a new beginning. Everything is alive again. Things begin to bloom and grow. The Earth begins to soften. Absorbing everything the winter has shed. It's replaced with the first flower. The first sign of Spring. The daffodil. I've always liked the daffodil. It's warm yellow color. How the pedals fall gracefully to the sides. It's almost like a pair of lips parting to form a smile. For a brief moment, I flashback in time to when I was a kid.

It's Springtime and I'm in the backyard playing. I can hear those birds singing. And that one woodpecker who would return each year. I search for him in the trees. Trying to locate his vivid red markings amongst a forest of green and brown. I can hear the water echo as it races downstream under the bridge. Leaving the rocks beneath it smooth and round from it's continuous pattern. I run my hand along the top of the bridge. I admire each knot in the wood and how I helped my father build it when I was just 6. In the near distance I see my sister swinging on our swing set. I hear the annoying creaking in my head. A noise that back then irritated me. Today, a noise I miss the presence of. The presence of her being close by. I feel the warm wind against my skin. Blowing from the weeping willow tree. The same tree I carved my initials into and one year tried to climb. I breathe in the fresh grass. So newly cut that the drew drops can be seen lying on each blade. The green rubs off on my tennis shoes, staining them for the day. I am not bothered that my Nikes are damp and the soles are slightly green in color. I continue to run about.

I throw a football straight up into the air and my best friend tries to catch it. I can see him in that same pale blue t-shirt like it was yesterday. I can feel him sitting beside me on my parent's front porch. Playfully nudging one another in the ribs. Sharing a grilled cheese sandwich together. He practically lived there. When we turned 18, it was almost a given that we would be roommates in college. It was a bond that nobody could break. If it hadn't been for blood, I think he would of been my brother. He felt like a brother to me. He was treated like a son by my Mom. Back then, I see her leaning over to kiss the top of each of our heads telling us to be good and that my sister was in charge while she ran to the store for a few. I wish he had only ran out to the store. He would be back by now. We would throw the football around. We would share lunch together again. We would try and relive some happy times from the past. We would plan happy times to live for the future. We would reminisce and laugh. We would makeup for all these years that we continue to lose. Years he decided to throw away one day. Time we will never get back. His life tied to mine. Him and that old faded blue t-shirt I truly miss. I wish him back, but God won't comply. Instead I am filled with memories and wishes of what "would have been". Memories and wishes that will never fade like his shirt.

It's funny that when I began to write this, the idea was that it would be happy and filled with childhood memories that I cherish. For the most part, it is. I do cherish the time I spent growing up and the time I spent with him. I wouldn't of traded it for anything. I also wouldn't trade in the pain that lingers on these days. I wouldn't do that because it would mean that the past wasn't real. I want it to be real. I love the fact that he was real. Real to me. Real to everyone around him. The weight of his death has never left me. It's been several years now since his suicide and maybe I still haven't fully grieved like I should of. Whatever it is, I wish that the weight would leave me as quickly as he left this world. I think this Spring when the first daffodils begin to bud and bloom, I will pick them. Pick half of them. The same half amount he use to help me pick for my Mom each Spring in the backyard. Perhaps he will look down and mimic each pedal by parting a smile. Perhaps I will mimic that smile too.