We made it out of February, some more unscathed than others.Winter brings out the blackness. The long days, the mornings where every ounce of your being wants to just lay in bed, the bitter cold forcing it's way into your bones. This is February.
I have a friend that is hurting badly, full of a profound grief and glaring introspection. I want it to not hurt so bad for him. I want to take the hurt away.
I have a friend with advanced cancer. She was my hospice patient and now, with a restructuring of my job, she is now my friend. And like all my friends, I love her. And I want to take the hurt away.
We had a nephew that only blessed this world with a week of living. My sister in law and brother in law are hurting. And I love them and want to take the hurt away.
This has been February.
February, for being the shortest month of the year, feels like the longest. February, in all its coldness and its forced recluse, gives us the opportunity to reach deep inside and pull up the things that need to be dug out. When I lived in Maine (where it is VERY COLD), I called it my black month.
You can't avoid February. It comes every year. Some sensitive types, like myself, feel the pressure of February a bit more than others, but no one can fight off the seasons, the ones of Earth, and the ones of our hearts.
I was gone from my writing in February, lost to my own routines and tightly curled up hurts.
But the sun, the glorious sun, has started shining.
And the sun, the glorious sun, is what gently uncurls the hurts.
Spring is rebirth. And we get the chance to be reborn again and again.
Soon February will be a distant memory. Or maybe, for the people that have experienced tremendous loss, it will be a milestone. An unthinkable time that hopefully will be less traumatic with the healing sun gently easing the pain.
I, myself, give thanks for February, for the dark and the light. And for the Spring where we all get the chance to be new again.
Spring is a gift. The sun always comes back.
BY DAR WILLIAMS