It's April.

                                      APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
                                      Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
                                      Memory and desire, stirring
                                      Dull roots with spring rain.
                                                                  --T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land

It's April.
And if you haven't noticed, I haven't written a thing.

I've tried, I have. I have a few posts started, some from ToT topics I've missed, some not. But, they weren't coming easily, and I realized I didn't have much to say.

April is beautiful. The grass is green, the air feels thick and fresh at the same time, the flowers are budding, the birds are singing, all of that. And for me, April is heavy. We lost my brother in April, and it's not one of those deaths that can be nicely packaged in platitudes and memory and sentiment. As it happens, it was tragic, shocking, horrifying.

And on top of that, he's gone.

It's been 11 years, and really, we are all OK, but some years April just feels so vivid and . . . well, if you've ever lived it, you know. This year is one of those years. Maybe it's because I have a beautiful son who is vibrant and loving spring and will grow up without his uncle or cousins on my side. Maybe it's because it's the first time the days have lined up on just the days they were when everything changed. Maybe it's because of shifting family dynamics, or my heart and mind, or the pull of the moon. Who knows.

I've been thinking . . . if I could find someway to redeem this loss, would I feel different? Maybe. But he would still be gone.
I've been thinking . . . should I write more about this? Do I have something to say? Maybe. But if I do, it will just be from my view. His story isn't mine to tell. And truthfully, I'm not sure I'm ready to trust an audience with all of this.

I always had the notion that death is a part of life, and that despite the pain of loss, death can be beautiful. I realize that few experience the nicely packaged, easy-to-explain, poetic and lovely passages from this world that I had painted in my mind. I learned that earlier in life than some people, and later than many others. This is just the way things are.

I see glimpses of my brother in my boy. Good things. Silly moments, serious thought, a big ol' mallet head, a great arm.  They would have had a blast together.

In October, at his birthday, it's easy to celebrate my brother's life. He was hilarious. Even smarter than you think, all the time. Generous. Strong. And he had my back, 100%. I wonder what our relationship would be like as adults. In April, I miss who he was and who he would have been.

In April, we have to be kind to ourselves, my family and I. We give all we can to what matters most and save the rest for healing. Today, I played in the rain with my boy and snuggled up on the couch. The sun will come out again, but today we have to be OK with the rain. So, if this is all the writing you get, I'm sure you understand.

                                                                                  Peace,