Complicated grief — it’s complicated.

My springtime sensation of loss is linked with birdsong and rain and unfolding tulips.

Photo by Polina Kovaleva from Pexels

But it doesn’t matter who we are when complicated grief hits, because for a moment in suspended time, we are exactly who we were then.

Joy, gratitude, accomplishment, security, and love step aside— I am now the self of April many years ago. The one I can’t put my finger on but my heart carries with immense weight. My partner knows by now. He’s been with me for five of these springtime triggers. “It’s just that time of year,” he says knowingly. “It won’t be like this forever.”

Grief has built upon grief like an unsteady foundation of Jenga blocks. I pull one near the bottom and the whole thing topples to the floor.

It is a massive network of feelings to extract. So where do I start?

Queens, NY. Sometimes traveler. Creating new narratives on mental health and sustainability. Founder of Earth & Me, a zero-waste small business and publication.

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