March and the sling shot of transition
March. It can be such a confusing month. This past weekend, the promise of spring filled every sense—the feel of the sun’s warmth on my face; the rich, earthy smell of slightly damp, decomposing soil; the sight of deep purples and brilliant whites of crocus bursting open to catch the sun; the sound of peepers serenading spring’s return; and the promised taste of fresh berries that much closer. I was reminded again, as I am every year, that by March, I am no longer a winter girl, but ache for reliable temperatures above 50 degrees and the ability to pack away the coats, thermal base layers, gloves, hats, and heavy sweatshirts. While I can embrace the cold for so long, I can’t deny the release that comes with a warm day.
And then, yesterday, we plunged back into winter. Even with the warming sun, the wind blew in a wintry chill and I couldn’t seem to shake the cold. The eagerness to get outside in the woods replaced with a reluctance and a mental effort to remind myself that with proper layers, even a cold walk through the woods is preferable to a day spent entirely inside.
The crocus and the nascent daffodil, hyacinth, and early tulip buds, held tightly in their green stems will weather this back and forth just fine. The crocus will pull the petals in tightly, protecting the more vulnerable stigma and stamens. Fruit blossoms and magnolia that excitedly blossomed into the warmer weather this past weekend may not be so lucky. The freeze of last night and tonight may cause more permanent damage. They can’t withstand the yo-yoing between 20 and 60 degrees.
March holds the sling shot of transition, the back and forth, the wish to move on to spring while still having to slog through the remaining wintery days. In years when we’ve skiied, I want to hold on to the winter, to will the snow to fall until right up to the end of March. But this year, wrestling, changing interests, and injury kept us mostly off the slopes, so my loyalties are fully team spring.
Several days ago, I went into Z’s room to straighten up after his stay during spring break. The clean, bright smell of him lingered in the air and predictably, I felt a pang of missing him. His spring break almost coincided with his birthday and I felt grateful we could celebrate him together as a family, that we all left the house together and came home to the same house. I was purposely not thinking about the fact that I would not see him on his actual birthday—it would be the first time since he was born that I couldn’t see him, hug him, be in the same space as him on the day he entered this world. Luckily for me, he forgot something when he returned to school and I used it as an excuse to drive up and take him out on his birthday. I picked him up, not even 24 hours after I’d dropped him off, and we headed off to a restaurant to eat and celebrate his arrival on a snowy March day 19 years ago. Of course, the dinner had to end and I brought him back to the small visitor parking lot outside his dorm that I have come to know so well. I had my familiar church parking lot, a drive home, and Persephone to hold my tears that night.
Z has been a college student for six plus months now. While I do get to see him on a fairly regular basis, he doesn’t live here anymore. He has settled in, he has his routines entirely independent of us. He wakes up at 7 am without me gently shaking him from sleep every weekday morning. He goes to class, studies, does his homework all without me reminding him. He tells me about how he is doing in classes with less concern that I will judge his performance and more to share, to discuss. He has his own social network of in-person and online friends. I am not even on the periphery of most of it. After years of his primary source of nourishment being food that his dad and I prepared or bought, I don’t even know what his cafeteria looks like. I have no idea how many fruits and vegetables he eats each day…or at least week.
The visits home can feel like those warm early spring days. The way his very presence can bring so much comfort to my heart, just the sound of his voice calming my worrying mind, seeing his smile several times a day like the return of the bird calls out my window. And then the absence, pulling me back into that sadness, that cold, wintry place. It’s the transitional phase, while I adjust to him moving into adulthood.
I realize that in so many ways, college is his spring—the blossoming and birth of a new phase. He is growing into his young adult life, creating his own way in the world. These are early days, March days, when some reports are bursting with color and promise and others suggest a colder, harsher blast. But he is pushing on, heading toward the vivid symphony of spring bulbs bringing luster and radiance back after months of dull, drab, and cold. The heady scent of hyacinth and lilac. The stunning beauty of a tulip, so regal and poised. The joyful triumph of the daffodil and its more delicate cousin, narcissus. So, too, is the season of mothering a young adult. To see the years of growing and wondering, falling and bruising, questioning and learning, hurting and forgiving leading to this unfolding stage of new confidence and engagement with the world in his own way, lead by him.
I know we are both more hearty crocus, daffodil, tulip, or hyacinth than fragile, impulsive magnolia or peach blossom. I know that both of us will embrace the spring of this life phase, though he is likely to see the promise ahead more easily than me, to spend less time mourning the loss of his childhood. And this is just how it should be.
For now, I sit in this March of my life, withstanding the wintry blasts, drinking in the warmth and sun and rebirth. Celebrating the birth of my first child, commemorating the day this mothering journey started, delighting in the moments of his life and his brother’s lives. Knowing that March will give way to April, April to May. Time will continue on and with luck and grace, I will continue to watch my boys change and grow and live a meaningful life.
We have not, in fact, lost to February, but have made it through to March and are closing in on April.