In his epic poem The Waste Land, T.S. Eliot wrote:
“April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.”
April 2016 mixed joy and sorrow, reminding me that good things happen as well as bad. On April 5, 2016, I received printed copies of The Spirit of Villarosa, a book I’d worked on for many years as a coauthor. To see the results of my labor brought elation.
The day after I received my books, an old friend died. Sadly, she was literally not old, but she had suffered from a debilitating illness for nearly sixteen years. She survived the doctor’s prognosis of five years because her family loved her so much and made sure she received the best care.
Two days before my friend’s memorial our neighbor died. Unlike my friend, he had lived eighty-eight years. His last year was not his best. He died a painful death after dealing with a number of serious health issues.
The last day of April brought great joy thirty-eight years ago, when our second son made his appearance in the world. This gentle giant weighed nearly twelve pounds and was almost two-feet tall at birth. For thirty-five years our son brought love, joy, sorrow, and some aggravation to our world. His blue eyes, wide smile, hearty laugh, and mischievous but loving nature made others love him almost as much as we did. He died suddenly, only three weeks after his thirty-fifth birthday.
April is not the cruelest month, nor is it the happiest. Like most months, it gives us a mixture of joy and sorrow.
“Though nothing can bring back the hour,
Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower,
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind.”
Wordsworth: “Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood”
In memory of Ross David Atwater, April 30, 1978–May 21, 2013