Spring is my favorite season. Each day brings new delightful colors in flowers. Right now as I look out my window, I see varieties of pink. The dark rose of a rhododendron with a deep scarlet in the throat of the flower. Right next to it is a smaller azalea. It is a baby pink and the blossoms look like tiny roses folding open.

The birdsong feeds my soul.

Photo by Edie Eager

Twice in spring, I was a griever. Those mornings when I woke up from a sleepless night, my eyes feasted on the beauty around me. I didn’t want to be in the grief state, but there I was. I’m reminded of that period of time by a photograph taken one of those springs. I was surrounded by my four siblings. They loved me, accepted me and didn’t want me to be sad, but they understood. I have a smile on my face, but my eyes are sad.

I worked through that spring season. The summer. The fall. And then the winter again. My grief didn’t pass as quickly as I would have liked, but gradually, day by day, it began to soften and lessen.

Why do I speak of such a very sad time? Because one of you might be there. You might be in the shock of loss and you don’t think you will ever be interested in flowers and springtime and the songs of the birds. You will. I promise you. There’s work to be done, though. Don’t just wait for time to pass, hoping your grief will lessen. It takes grief work.

What is grief work? There are many things you can do, but let me suggest one thing. Write a letter to the loved one you are grieving. I can’t write, you might say. It really doesn’t matter, for this is for you and no one else. In your letter, tell them something you wish you’d said to them. Ask them a question and though they won’t answer you, you can still ask. Your letter might be a goodbye letter. That won’t be easy, but I recommend you do it.

After you’ve written the letter, seal it. Put it where you can find it and in six months or a year, get it out again. When I opened my letter, I was at my husband’s graveside and I read it out loud there. By myself. It was healing. I cried more tears, but tears can heal and I could also see I had moved forward in my grief. I still hurt. I still missed my loved one. But word by word. Season by season. I could see I was healing.

Are you brave enough to be openly honest and write your words down? It does take bravery, but you can do it.

I was encouraged then and sometimes now, by a verse in the Psalms.

Weeping may tarry for the night

but joy comes with the morning. (Psalm 30:5 b RSV).

I promise you. It will.