They say April showers bring May flowers...

Dear April,

I’m kind of glad you’re gone. Please don’t get me wrong. You had moments that shone. Moments that made me laugh loudly. Moments that made my smile stretch a mile wide and made my eyes twinkle.

But you also gave me a gut punch that pushed me into a deep funk; one that took me a bit to recover from; one that was unexpected. 

My April moments that shone were many: getting the opportunity to connect with my friends who are such a part of who I am. Conversations that flow with ease. Words exchanged that bring light and laughter, and words that are more serious and somber as we share difficult moments of our lives. I love all of these conversations because true friendship, to me, is a kinship where everything can be expressed. Opposing views are exchanged, debated and talked about with respect. We can love together, agree to disagree together and end our time together with bonds as strong as ever. There were many of these in April.

I also returned to work in April. This is Season 4 working in the perennials department of a local greenhouse. I work with an amazing team in an environment that is beautiful — because plants are beautiful. Seeing new life, the promise of beauty, in summers that seem too short makes me smile. The people I work with make me smile. Their laughter, wit andknowledge make working fun. Catching up on their lives, sharing confidences — I know I’m lucky to be working where I do. Their energy is contagious. The routine is easy. I’m happy to be back.

April was also sneaky. Didn’t see it coming. My Favourite Husband's birthday is in April. I thought I’d be OK with it. I was not. 

The first birthday after he died was hard; for me, the firsts always are. But I was determined to celebrate what would’ve been his 60th with tears of sadness and happiness. So I visited his dialysis unit with cupcakes and gift cards for all the nurses who gave him such excellent care. I took cake to his family members. I bought coffees and meals randomly. I was determined to make the day matter. 

For his second heavenly birthday, I was in Las Vegas with one of my closest friends. We laughed together as I told her funny stories about him, good memories, great memories. We went to In-N-Out burger — his favourite U.S. burger place — and had a birthday lunch just for My Favourite Husband.

This year, I had no expectations, no celebratory plans. I simply thought the day would be soft with gentle reminders of the life we had.

Instead, much like a storm that rages in anger, I was flooded with memories but not the happy ones. About a week prior to the actual day, memories of the fights, the spats, and the unkind moments bubbled up. Every marriage, I believe, has them. Words that go sideways, disagreements over things that matter — and things that don’t. All of it resolved, apologies exchanged, filed away. 

While I try not to be exclusive in my memories, remembering only the good and glossing over the bad, I wasn’t prepared for the amount of negativity that arose. 

I lost sleep reliving. I was restless and angry; both at the actual events and the fact that they were coming to the surface. I was bitter. What was dealt with, was in the past, not now.

Much like the movie Groundhog Day, my days began by waking up to this part of my marriage. 

And so began the process of allowing all of these memories to wash over me, acknowledge them and find peace and closure — again. I let the tears flow. I let the feelings happen. 

By the time the actual day arrived, I was back to being in a place of balance. I was OK once again. I went out for breakfast with the heart sister who I spent the previous birthday with and it was a good day.

So April, lessons learned. Appreciate all the moments. Celebrate all the memories. Know that all of it can happen and that I’ll be strong, resilient when I need to be and vibrant, energetic for the rest.