Almost the Spring I Feared the Most

It was really balmy here in Southeast Virginia a few weeks ago, and it made me a little bit nervous. Where I grew up, March was the trickiest month of the year. It really could “come in like a lion and go out like a lamb.” In other words, March could be damn cold–cold to the bone. And God help you if you didn’t have shoes that could keep your feet warm or a coat that couldn’t keep the wind from blowing right through! The ice settled in your back, arms, and shins, and made a left turn into your consciousness.   

As a kid in Northern New Jersey, when we had the one-off day in late winter that felt like spring, I worried about the forsythia that bloomed popcorn yellow on Route 287 on my way to and from Rutgers-Newark and the crocuses that poked up through the snow. What would happen if all the plants and trees thought it was spring and bloomed unwittingly, only to have the frozen Alberta Clipper descend upon the land once again? Yes, I worried about that. Because back then, the seasons were much longer than they are now. Back then, a month was a very long time, a season: Forever. 

That spring of falsehoods never occurred in my younger years, but this year came close. It began to warm up in February. It got warmer and warmer. Soon, none of us at work were wearing our coats. We had sweaters, and what I now know to be a Southern phenomenon, the men in the office began to wear shorts and “tennis shoes.” In New Jersey, we called them “sneakers,” but I’ve gradually come around to the Southern way. (Although I will never say “buggy” when I mean “shopping cart.”)

The trees began to swell with buds, and my now beloved tulips, yes, all 20 of them, began to make a showing. 

April Fools have come and gone, and I will make these observations: Last year, I had variegated tulips–red, white, bright yellow. This year, they are all white, with the exception of one yellow tulip. Also, the trees that are usually the palest of greens and reds, are all a dull brown. 

I felt somewhat somber until this week: The cherry blossoms and the redbud trees are in bloom, peonies abound in their vivid multi-colored splendor, and yellow pollen coats the cars and the lining of my lungs. Fellow allergy sufferers, I feel your pain. Fellow optimists, Oh, God, what glorious days lay ahead! 

Far Past the Highway’s End

Delaware Water Gap

Far past the highway’s end

where the willows weep

and the river sighs,

damp earth pulls the air

and wraps itself 

around this place of loss.

The river has taken my friend

who desperately embraced

life’s end – and I stand numb

on the river bank.

A hundred rocks I could throw –

for nothing.

I say Rise up Lazarus,

don’t be dead –

but he says smiling,

my dove,

I must be dead by now.

He is gone, and

I weep –

in jagged gasps I cry

Death is so unkind.

He says,

NO, No, no,

the Universe is all there is.

Note: This was written for my friend, and fellow musician, Dennis McCampbell (1958 – 1979).

For my readers:

I have suffered major depression from my earliest memory. After many trials and errors, I found a treatment plan that works, and am able to function normally.

Depression, in whatever form, is terrifying, and in so many, many cases, fatal, but there is hope.

If you ever find yourself so bereft that only suicide is left, in the US call 911 and just say, I need help. In the UK, call 999.

I’m not sure what the emergency number is in other nations, but please know that the world is a better place with you IN IT.

Recovery is a long, complicated road, but it is so worth it, and so possible. More people love you than you know. The pain passes, and life can still hold hope. xoxoxox