And yet I find joy

The sun shines through a frenzy of cherry blossoms and long-naked trees are decked out in chartreuse leaf buds. I feel like I can breathe again. And I do, deeply. I breathe in the sunshine and it fills my heart with joy. I breathe out the long dark winter and create room for more sunshine and joy.  

And yet I grieve.

This spring, I have a new kitten and a year-old goldendoodle pup. They’re hilarious! The kitten is new, so they’re only just learning how to get along as sisters. It will take a while, but I’m optimistic. In the meantime, I laugh as the kitten leans into a mighty stretch and tumbles off the chair, or finds a leaf on the floor and goes into full attack mode. I laugh as my dog carries a grass clump on a neighbourhood walk as if it were her precious newborn babe, or bounces like Tigger when my granddaughter comes near.

And still, I grieve. Deeply.

I look forward to summer road-trips with my mom, family dinners (finally, after what seems like forever apart!), walks with friends, and summer picnics. I’m excited about a family trip we have planned next fall; my daughters and granddaughter and son-in-law exploring Mexico together, immersing ourselves in the culture of Day of the Dead, and then relaxing on the white sands of the Caribbean sea.

But I grieve because my son is not with us. And all of the “Oh, but he’s with you in spirit” people can take a flying you-know-what because spirit be damned, I want him here, now! I want my son in flesh and blood, to hold and hug and scold and smell. I want him to cook the barbecues and pet the cat and throw a ball for the dog and put my granddaughter on his shoulders and tease his sisters and have heart-to-hearts with my son-in-law and get bedazzled by the sounds and sights and tastes of the Day of the Dead ceremonies. I don’t want him to be one of the dead.

And yet, I find joy.

I find joy because there are sunny days and flowers and kittens and puppies and family and friends. Because there is life, and I am living it. Because I understand the beautiful, magical, impermanence of our physical beings. I find joy because I grieve.