Lavender in Springtime

A series of endings and beginnings. Such is life. Now it is springtime, and I ordered little plants of English lavender, for our backyard. I think it should do well here, with the all warmth and so much sunshine. It's been so long since I've stuck my hands in the soil and done any gardening.

I used to enjoy it so much, and -- although I knew nothing about anything -- proceeded to plant perennials in the back yard of our old house. I tried and tried and tried to rear one of my favorite flowers, the foxglove, and for years it eluded me. I succeeded only marginally and at the wrong time: a couple stalks appearing surprisingly after my first baby started walking and our puppy came to live with us. Knowing foxglove (digitalis purpurea) to be poisonous, I could only gasp at its loveliness and then groan at its timing.

When my Mom died, I felt as if part of me died along with her. I was, in fact, quite dead for a long while, neglecting everyone, including myself. A part of me had ended, and I turned my back on life.
I am not a religious person, but my Mom held a quiet, solid faith, and so she had a funeral fit for a queen by the Greek Orthodox church. And on her prayer cards, I chose the closest prayer I could to represent my belief that death is a part of the cycles of nature.
It was:
For every thing there is a season, and a time for every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die;
A time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
A time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
A time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose;
A time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew;
A time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate;
A time of war, and a time of peace.

From Ecclesiastes.
Yet when someone you love is taken too soon, too early, and too young, it is hard, nearly impossible, to find comfort or relief in the belief that this is how life goes, and so will we all. My Mom was all I had left of my past, and so stunned was I upon losing her, that I have only very slowly emerged to return to life, someone changed, yet still the same.
The seasons continue to churn, though, and today as I dug in the dirt to place the lavender, I remembered my days spent in summery pursuit of the foxgloves, and I remembered leaving that house, and that garden. The planting caused me to recall a piece of myself, as I used to be.
We begin anew here, and springtime is upon us. I don't much like the sun, but today it was pleasantly mild, and I sat outside for a brief, quiet time, closing my eyes and turning my face upwards.