Monthly Archives: March 2020
Spring is starting to arrive here in Maryland. As I posted on Instagram this week, spring was a time that Julienne and I loved more and more with every passing year. The long winters – with the bare branches of the forest surrounding us, the chill wind that cut deep into the otherwise numbed fingers and toes from the neuropathy that was a side effect of her first chemo treatment, the grey days and long nights – took their toll on our spirits tremendously. The first sunny mild day of spring was like a holiday for us. Usually I’d be working that day, so when I got home we’d grab some wine and sit on the deck, listening to music and checking the plants for green shoots while the dogs chased each other around and curled up on the chairs with us. It was a real renewal for us, in the most cliched of Springtime tropes, but very real for us.
This past Sunday, I spent the warm sunny day, as much as I could, on a blanket spread next to her burial site. I packed a picnic, read a book-length poem called The Farm aloud to her (a Christmas present from a damn good friend), threw a tennis ball for the pups, hiked around, and took hundreds of pictures of the surroundings. It was a very bittersweet day. I was glad I could enjoy it, but I missed Julienne so much, because it was the kind of day we lived for, hoped for. I was able to feel her presence with me that day, like the feeling of being awake before her, knowing she’s asleep beside me and feeling calmed by the fact that she was there, but I just longed to be able to hold her hand as we walked along the fields together. I was at peace, and I was consumed with anger at the unfairness that she should be gone.