Perceptions of Spring - III

"We don't have to let go.  We simply have to not hold on."
-- Joseph Goldstein

     Hours before the vernal equinox – the first day of spring according to the calendar, winter roared back in. Schools closed, plows rumbled over the streets, the brown open fields settled back into white, and we all gave up a little hope and reverted to patience.
     I've been part of this dance before. I know the roofs will drip snow like frosting and icicles won't have a chance under this March sun. Winter can't hold on.

     My mind is getting in the way, though. And it's not the weather that confounds me, it's the calendar.
     The calendar is telling me that spring is coming because it is time now for my younger two to register for fall classes at the High School. It is time for the letters to come from the colleges telling Meg whether she has been accepted or rejected. It is time for me to make hotel reservations for my parents who will be flying to Maine in June for graduation.
     This is where I try to placate my uneasiness by making nice analogies to new beginnings, seeds bursting forth, fertile soil. But I can't. My mind keeps darting around, trying to understand. Acceptances? Rejections? Graduate? These words have a finalness to them that don't belong in spring. I like spring. I love spring. I'm a nice grounded person; I'm not a doting, over-protective, “helicopter” mother; I meditate and do yoga; I don't drink caffeine... Somehow I seem to think that I don't deserve this snowstorm at the vernal equinox.
     But my calendar is showing me that time just keeps marching towards the moment, square by numbered square, when I will be done raising my oldest child at home. And it is happening this spring. Which is now.
     It's a good thing I have a heart to enfold my mind, pouting and stamping its foot at the calendar like a stubborn child. I need my heart to soothe my fears around the coming season. And I will need it to gently make room for the quiet sadness that is taking up residence as the snow melts.