April

April is the cruelest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain.

--T. S. Eliot

My Mom used to say "T.S., Mr. Eliot!"

It's been almost a year now since we said goodbye to our dear friend Diana. Okay, we've been saying goodbye ever since, too, haven't we? It's April, though, no way around it, and the 28th will come, and then May 7th, when my Dad died. You can get your head on as straight as you think you need to, and an anniversary of grief is still there, patiently waiting for you to stop trying to "manage" it.

I was by Da Woods and Yvonne and I talked briefly about this month and what it means. Kevin was already hauling stuff again. I walked upstairs and out the door grateful that these two found each other and have understanding company.

That got me thinking as I got into the car and turned around about a conversation I had with Diana one night while the other boys were playing pool. I can't remember her exact words, but she said something to the effect that she didn't mind dying so much if it weren't that Kevin would still be here without her. I suppose she worried about what would happen when he didn't have to hold things together so marvelously (making the rest of us spouses look puny by comparison) any more.

I looked up the driveway at the hundreds of tulips and daffodils sprouting along the driveway, thought about Kevin and Yvonne moving things and cleaning and making space, and felt the sun shining on my face through the windshield.

What I felt just then was something that's hard to describe, a sense of Diana's presence, warm and approving and I remembered that beaming crooked smile that always said "you are exactly okay and I am with you and I totally approve."

I don't know much. I know less than I once did, certainly. But I know this:

She is with us and she approves.