It’s spring again. The trees have filled out. Flowers bloom in my garden bed. And the air has that sweet scent of lilac floating on a soft breeze. It’s my favorite time of year. No, wait. I do love the crispness of fall and a fire crackling in the fireplace. Oh, yeah. And I do love watching the snow sift down and swirl as it floats along to cover the grass with the first snowfall. Then again, I love the long days and warm nights of summer with campfires and s’mores. Well, anyway. That is neither here nor there, I guess. Although, I believe the reason I love all the seasons is because of my upbringing.

There was so much love in my upbringing. Love and music and laughing. Little acts of love. Amazing acts of love. But there were also tough times, fights and disagreements, apologies and amends. Underneath it all we supported each other and found a way to forgive whatever needed forgiving. And the reason for this was my parents.

My folks have been gone eight years now, and for some reason, this year it has seemed particularly difficult to grasp their absence in my life. That being said, I know the depth of my loss is equal to the depth of the love that still flows through my veins for them and from them. In my mind and my heart there are an infinitesimal number of memories that keep me connected to them.

They come upon me without warning sometimes. Memories that are as clear as if they are happening in real time. So, the other day, I was washing a little tea bag holder that had been my mom’s. There were four of them, each in the shape of a tiny teapot, painted with a different color cartoon face with a smile. Printed on each was the saying “I shall hold the tea bag”. They had always sat on the kitchen counter in Mom’s kitchen. When we cleaned out the house to sell it, I scoffed these up and took them home, where they have sat on my kitchen counter and been used every day. Funny, but I have placed a soggy tea bag in one of these, every day, for years and the other day, as I turned one over to wash it, I noticed that it had been broken at some time. And someone had glued it together so you couldn’t tell from the front. A flash of memory hit me as I remembered watching my father glue each little piece back together for my mother, because it was a treasured trinket of hers. Little pieces, patience, heart, love all wrapped into a tiny tea bag holder. This is what love is.

Other memories began to flow. I remember how I loved horses so much as a kid. With so many kids, we could never afford for me to take riding lessons, so instead I read everything I could about them. I did school reports on them. Black Beauty was my favorite novel. I collected porcelain statuettes of horses that I displayed on shelves my dad put up for me in my bedroom, just for that purpose. One day, when I was about 12 years old, I was sitting in my room doing my homework. Out of nowhere I heard a crash and looked around to see that the shelves had fallen. Crashed to the floor. Each horse smashed to pieces. I was devastated. I had been collecting them since I was a little girl. I cried and cried. My parents came to see what was happening, and when they saw the chaos, and me on the floor surrounded by pieces of sharp porcelain, they tried to comfort me. But I was just so upset. My Mom went downstairs and came back with a dustpan and brush and started cleaning up the smaller pieces so I wouldn’t get cut. My Dad got down on his hands and knees and carefully picked up as many of the larger pieces as he could and disappeared downstairs.

A few days later, I came home from school and when I went into my room, the shelves were back up and although not every statuette was back, several of them were on the shelf, glued back together as best as possible by my dad. Again, I cried and cried. This time for joy and for the knowing that my father had taken little pieces, patience, heart and love for me, to put these treasures back together. This is what love is.

I still feel such love every time he sends me a feather as I walk along the path in my woods. Every time a hummingbird hovers around the feeder I feel my Mom. I have looked at the world through a lens of all that is beautiful, rich and rare. I have found joy in the tiniest of things, even when I was in a dark place. I have a thankful heart, filled with gratitude for all my parents showed me. And I know, for sure, this is what love is.