There is a Season
In this age of social media, I was trying to think of the last time I said goodbye. Nothing sprang to mind. I use x’s and o’s a lot at the end of anything written to friends on the internet, thank you to those I run into in the community who help in some regard, and when My Beloved Bubba died, I didn’t say a word.
As the paramedics carried him out of the house, he said, “I’m sorry,” but I sat in stunned silence. For weeks and months, I wondered why I hadn’t said “I love you, Bubba,” because we said those words to each other every time he left the house, when we woke, readied for sleep, and many times throughout the day. I still don’t have an answer and perhaps never will. I’m grateful, however, that not once during our story of love did we ever say goodbye.
So this morning, as I watched the fog-covered air from my open window, and listened to the birds reverberate their morning glory, I realized I only have a few more weeks of open windows, and it hit me.
I say goodbye to seasons.
I prepare for winter to the best of my abilities, piling up blankets and beautiful quilts I’ve collected along the way, and gratefully say goodbye to the cold, as I welcome the birth of spring.
Living in the rainy northwest, I say goodbye to April showers, along with May and the early part of June, and ready my home for what…
