Our crazy, poorly pruned lilacs are a whispy, hazy green. The buds are breaking. As much as I have kept a close eye on these, awaiting their sweet fragrance, I also harbor a little dread.
Lilacs were my dad’s favorite flower. He always had little vases of them during the early spring. It always kind of surprised me that he liked them so much – they’re so feminine and he was anything but.
Many people seem to miss their departed loved ones during the holidays. I whizzed through the holidays without much struggle. But early spring gets me every time. In the winter it isn’t hard for me to believe my dad is gone. It’s winter, life is quiet, and so much isn’t growing and alive. But when the first buds of spring break, I am so painfully aware that he is not alive, not growing, and not here to enjoy the sweetness that bud break is sure to bring.