It’s the first day of Summer 2017. There was no spring to speak of.  Rainy, damp, foggy, cool. Days and days and days without the sun shining. Blankets and sweatshirts in the house because you just cannot turn the heat back on when it’s late May. Who does that? Well, I admit, I did. I turned the heat back on for a few days because it was just too damn cold for May. What can I say?

My garden beds are a disaster. Except for the phlox and lilies and butterfly bushes that come up every year, there is hardly any color. I have not planted one annual. There are still leaves needing to be raked out. Trellises needing to be pulled back up. But, somehow, I just cannot find the wherewithal to go out and take care of these things. I look at them as I walk from my car to the front door, and think, “Yeah, I should rake those leaves out. I should get a few petunias. Those weeds need to be pulled.” But I have lost my motivation.

I haven’t walked in months. Both me and Tucker need to get back into the woods. My woods. The woods where I used to feel safe, but now not so much. The early morning air that used to wake me up feels uninspiring.  Watching a hummingbird at the feeder moves me, but not to the joy I once felt. I haven’t even been to the canal once this year. I know I need to do these things, but I have lost my motivation.

I feel certain that this all has to do with the grieving process, but it’s so foreign to me. These feeling of deep sadness and pain seem insurmountable at times. I am a happy person. I am a grateful person. I find joy in everyday things. But these days, I seem to have lost that spark. I pray I find it again.