May Flowers
Lilacs are May in essence. — Jean Hersey
My lilac bush didn’t really bloom. I say really because it wanted to, it tried, but it just couldn’t get there.
I always get excited when I see the bush start to turn that distinct, vibrant green. It’s nature’s way of telling my soul that spring is near. I don’t get excited because spring is my favorite season (it isn’t). I don’t get excited because lilacs are my favorite flower (they’re not). I do get excited because lilacs are my Mom’s favorite flower and somehow, someway, these beautiful purple buds have appeared at every house I’ve ever lived in. We talked about it. It was a strange and beautiful coincidence.
When my Mom was sick in the hospital, our last text conversation was about the lilacs in the backyard. Her situation was so dire and I wanted so desperately to believe that the blooming lilacs were a good sign. We talked about how much she loved that shade of purple, how sweet lilacs smelled and she reminded me again that these were her favorite flowers. Throughout that May, the lilacs flourished while her condition grew worse.
Grief causes one to do strange things. One of the by products of my grief was a deep dive into lilacs. While I’m certainly not a lilac expert, there are a few facts that stood out. Did you know that lilacs are extremely hardy? An especially cold winter helps them to go dormant — something the bush needs to bloom big in the spring. And lilacs have a super short blooming season…typically two to three weeks only making them unique and rare. While lilacs are known for their beautiful blooms in a range of colors, it’s their fragrance that truly stands out.
I mentioned before that my lilacs really didn’t bloom this year. There was certainly effort. I would go out and check only to find a handful of purple buds none of which fully bloomed or had any scent at all. The symbolism wasn’t lost on me. Like the lilac bush, I too am stuck. I try, there’s effort, but I’m stuck in grief.
We often fail to talk about our grief journey. It’s hard, it’s not a fun topic of conversation, no one wants to feel sad, it’s a burden to those around you, but once you are forced onto this road it never ends. It keeps going…and going.
Time heals all wounds…at least that’s the saying. I beg to differ.
Mom died four years ago on May 30th. Nothing is the same..including the flowers.
Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.
