Letters

The month of May is my season of grief

Asked by: C

Answered by: Rhea Dillon

C. Toronto, Canada

Spring, the month of May, is one of my seasons of grief. My son Ford’s birthday is in May; he would be turning 16 this year if he were still alive, but he died when he was 14 months old. After he died those years ago, eventually, almost everything changed for me. My marriage ended (our hearts were too broken), and I moved across the country to rebuild. And I did. I love what grew — my home, my work, my community, and especially my now seven year old daughter. None of this life would exist if my son had lived. I do not wish my present away. And yet, I wish very much that my son had lived. I grapple with this — I long to know that alternate path where he lived; and closer to his birthday, my heart breaks so much that he isn’t here. And… here would be some unknown there. Here, I’m trying to hold my missing him, and my gratitude for how my own path persevered after the tragedy of his death.

Spring is in bloom. Where can I plant my grief?

R.D.

Dear C.,

Your here is my unknown there. There, I do not know a loss like yours. A weight—much for anyone to hold. My here is your unknown there. Here, I’m writing to you in a garden that holds my family, but does not belong to us. After death, it will go to a stranger of the world; no blood relation. I am now in old London after New York. Here, I cannot hold much though I have many. Spring is in bloom.

Spring is in bloom. By one breakdown of definitions, this phrase translates to: The Origin Is In Flower. You are the origin of yours and Ford’s story. You are the origin of you. This version of your world will always start with you, like the end will be closed by you, C.

Can I call you C, and Ford, F? In seeing you, C, we know that:

C is both the origin and the flower.

F is both the flower and the origin.

And C/F are both thankful for all paths that lead to the certainty of bloom. Look back, sure, and know that it will always propel you through. That is the seed of your planting.

In addition, as a further offering, here is a poem by Nikki Giovanni that I feel could be a mutual relational returning place. It’s called You Came, Too, 1970:

I came to the crowd seeking friends

I came to the crowd seeking love

I came to the crowd for understanding

I found you

I came to the crowd to weep

I came to the crowd to laugh

You dried my tears

You shared my happiness

I went from the crowd seeking you

I went from the crowd seeking me

I went from the crowd forever

You came, too