It was a raw day in the middle of March. Looking through the window, the snow had receded enough where I could finally see the crocuses poking through the ground.
“The crocuses are here, the crocuses are here!!” I exclaimed as I gave them an extended singular ovation, pirouetting around the living room in my excitement. I’ve done this every year in my life ever since I can remember.
Walking through our yard, I was seduced by the mystery of March. The dormancy of winter hung undeniably in the air, yet so did the velocity of spring.
And that somehow, as the garden always does, connected me with my weighty question of late: What am I going to do with my life?
A contemplation both abundant and daunting, both fortunate and tragic.
Infertility and the loss of my children have altered me in ways still unfolding. New skill sets I never aspired to have, far reaching perspectives I never asked for, fragile wounds and vulnerabilities I did not invite that need to be tended to. While I try to own it all anyway. The alchemy of this seems to be vagueness.
“If I have to do it without you, I don’t really care what I do.”
My soul whispers its secret to the wind and to the dogwood tree that stands guard over our embryos as I tenderly stroke its still brittle branches. I congratulate it on surviving its first winter, and a harsh one at that.
March has always been one of my least favorite months. It is uncomfortable here in the northeast United States. And long. At a point weary and wanting for drastic alteration, March drops just a sliver of a shift while mostly teasing you with what isn’t yet.
Seasons carry much variation but also a level of definition and certainty. Life after loss does not. So as I explore through my yard I wonder, how long will my March last? Another month? Years? Or perhaps this is just my life. Forward flinging sparks of passion and desire forever tugged on by what should have been.
infertilityhonesty 
Its so funny, because I always hated March too, in my “other” life. Same reasons as you. It goes on and on, and its stuck on stuck – in the midst of nothingness, after the long cold and before the renewing spring. Now though – it is one of the few months I actually welcome, for its boringness and nothingness. It is one of the only months on the calendar that DOESNT have a “grief-trigger day” for me. No wedding anniversary, no death day, no holiday days, no Valentines day, no birthdays, and no “anniversary of the first time we did x,y,z , moved in , kissed, first date, etc etc etc” days. None of them fall in March. So for me, in this “after” life I didnt ask for, March is the one time where I can feel free to just be STUCK in time, right along with the month itself, and not give a damn. Its like a long sigh, before the slow progression of important dates and milestones begins again ….
That it is a respite of sorts for you now makes it a little less sucky for me:-)
March always passes, wherever we are, and so too will this.
So comforting – “This too shall pass” was one of my grandma’s favorite sayings.
Hang in there, spring is coming…! (Eventually….!!)
I know, I’m like “are we there yet?” on hour three of a fifteen hour drive. Groan….
Your writing is so evocative, Sarah. This post served a memory of the aimlessness I, too, once felt viscerally. While what I’m about to say does not diminish the emotional difficulty you’re feeling, there may be some intellectual comfort in knowing that the sensation of wandering day to day without a ‘working GPS’ will abate. In the days to come you will find that your steps start to feel more directed. xo
Knowing this will make my heart tugging uprooted floating more tolerable – thank you:-)
as per usual, i’m way behind on my blog reading, but I experienced a similar emotion on easter weekend. I was looking at my backyard, thinking about how good it would be for an easter egg hunt. I had some emotions thinking about what will not be; looking at all the new life of spring and the emotions came on. Beautiful post.
Thanks. Seems the combination of loss and the onset of spring is both strange and evocative, for some reason.