Spring  has come dusting everything yellow with pollen. The mountains are covered in subtle shades of green. Flowers are blooming. The early morning is filled with the voices of birds mocking each other, exclaiming their territory or just the pure joy of a time filled with food and warmth for their young.

T.S. Elliot comes to mind:
April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.

Memorial Day has passed and on the TV channel Turner Classic they aired war movies back to back. The footage for some was from actual battle scenes. There were scenes of marching men, hundreds of marching men on the way to the place where their life would end.

In the movie “Twelve O’Clock High” Gregory Peck plays General Frank Savage. He gives a speech to his pilots and flight crewmen. He tells them to think about themselves as already dead and then to go on and do what they have to do.

I wonder some days if that is not how I operate. I know that I am in many ways already dead, forgotten. I have passed out of so many circles that I used to be involved in where I was so sure of my importance and irreplaceability. I am expendable as so many of us are. Yet, I have things that I will do while I am here.

In reading “Co-dependent no more” I keep finding myself. At times, while reading I wanted someone to provide a swift kick to my bottom for all the time I wasted spinning around and around in useless circles. I see myself, but not my son. I see my daughter and want to encourage her to learn to free herself from her co-dependent habits. Perhaps it is because I do recognize the urgings I heard from my son written in that book that makes me like it even more. My son was right – I wish I could tell him.

It is a slow process breaking old patterns of useless worry and the need to control. It does not make the world a happier place. In many instances I suddenly see the misguided motives and actions so many of us employ in an attempt to control things.

But sweetheart, you were right. I suffer from doom and gloom. I do need to honor the things I want to do and give them space to grow and develop. It is okay to speak my mind, to be assertive yet I will continue to monitor my motives. It is okay not to speak at all!

You were right, sweet pea to embrace the opportunities that came your way. You were right to push your fear down and go on. I miss your words and encouragement. I miss your editorial comments and your own predictable reactions to the things that I know you would disapprove of. You made those things very clear. And sometimes when I know you would not like a show or music or book – I watch or listen or read it anyway – because it is what I want to do and it is what I would do if you were still here.

But the coming of Spring has offended me now for a few years. It seems to flaunt the fact that life continues and I still stumble over it. The flowers and the deep greens make me weep for the beauty I cannot share with you. I am fighting a vigilant fight against the dread of July 2nd. It comes like a fog to obscure the possible joy of the days that come before.

I find more memories to smile about these days, yet the sudden tears are never far behind. You sister asked me the other day, “Is he really gone?” That is the question that sums up most of my days and I expect always will.

With spring comes fresh joy and fresh sorrow. My own dull roots stir and your dad, sister and I look for you.

Forever,
Mom