“I think I might be depressed,” I told my husband nearly half-way through April. The flowers were out, the sun was shining, and a thick film seemed to cover my brain – a heaviness in my heart that had persisted since the end of March.
In an effort to remove the darkness, I escaped to the mountains, I exercised more, I wrote in my journal, I soaked up the sunshine, and I meditated each morning all without relief. So I napped. And sometimes I cried. And I acknowledged the heaviness – the heaviness that came with April – 40 years since Mom took her life.
And I waited.
And the light returned. Surrounded by beautiful women in a little cabin in the mountains I shared my heart. And they shared theirs. And together we listened in silence. Together we loved.
Words from my heart fell to the page in tribute to Mom’s heaven on earth where the sweet peppermint and savory watercress return from death as they soak up the living waters, and where yellow dandelions defy the freshly cut lawn.
I sit by the river and remember. I grow from a young girl to a mother myself. In my mind I walk with mother, while my children and grandchildren splash in the water. The river has lost its natural bend which once sloped gently to the water’s edge, now lined with rocks and pebbles carried from higher up by life’s storms. Flooding tears.
The earth collects my tears and holds them sacred. Tears from which new life blossoms.
And the watercress and peppermint poke their heads once again through the stones.
In recounting Mom’s Heaven, I give tribute to all women – angels who lift and love in Mom’s absence. Angels of light.
And I say goodbye to April for another year.