The rusty sword of spring

Thirteen years ago, I wrote my first ever post on No Kidding in NZ. It was about November, and titled “Double-edged Sword of Spring.” It’s worth repeating here:

“In New Zealand, November means spring. Officially, September or October are spring, but they are unreliable months, when winter still has us in its grip, teasing and taunting us with the occasional fine day, with the bloom of flowers, with pink blossoms and buds turning into delicate, pale green leaves on the willow trees that edge the Hutt River. September and October still have the power to force us back into our winter coats, to wear scarves and gloves. This year was particularly cruel, as we watched a late snowstorm in the south of the country arrive in September, bringing the sheep farming industry to its knees, its icy ferocity killing thousands of newborn lambs.

But by November hope has returned. Even though there might still be a chilly bite in the wind, the sun warms, and we begin to believe that warm temperatures will return, that long holidays, barbecues, trips to the beach, swimming, and the end of a rough year are almost within reach.

November sees hope for the future for most New Zealanders. November celebrates new life. But for me, November signals a different time. It signals a season of memories. Memories of loss, of disappointment, of the loss of innocence, of fear for the future, and of coming to terms with my own mortality. And each year, although sharp pain has faded, although acceptance and enjoyment in life has returned, each year we remember the pain.

In my house in New Zealand, even seven years later, November is a double-edged sword.”

It’s not now seven years later, however. Now, it is 20 years later. And November is no longer a double-edged sword. The sword edges are dulled, and it is rusting away. I don’t get the same dread thinking about the season of memories of loss, of hospitalisations, of pain. In fact, I only remembered that it was November in that way by happening on my first ever post in my word document of drafts and posts. Time heals. It really does. Time eases memories, and takes the sting out of them.

(That’s not to say that there is never any sting. I felt tears prick my eyes after reading something else, earlier, about “the one who was missing” and the simple, “ah, mate” comment I got from a blogger. It was unexpected indeed.)

But these days, when I think of November, I'm not thinking about pain. (Well, apart from cursing the spring winds that plague me!) In fact, now I’m thinking about scheduling in dentist and doctor appointments, dinners with friends, spring cleaning, and Christmas shopping. Sure, I will think about what was lost as anniversaries come up. But with remembrance, and love, and even gratitude. And right now, I’m thinking about happy events (well, mostly), warmer weather, activity, and hoping for some accomplishments. I’m enjoying and anticipating life. That’s the joy I probably didn’t expect when I wrote that first post.

Note: After that first post, I discovered that Loribeth also has a series of November posts.