On the day of Sacred Spaces, I touched a little on how Lach is a part of who I am and that thoughts of him are never too far away. He’s in the dragonfly that passes by, the sunrise, and the play of a group of boys. He’s in church, in every 10 month old baby, and in my nephews. He’s in the smell of baby spit-up, CeraVe lotion, and the stain of the chest that holds his belongings. He’s in the song on the radio, in the family of 4 boys and a girl, and in the question of “how many kids do you have?”
Spring is a notable “Lachlan” time. May and June are my special Lach months. We came home from his funeral to a tree bursting with beautiful pink flowers. Every year my chest aches and my eyes get leaky when the trees start to bloom. I find it fascinating that the ache of the season is knit right into my bones. I will FEEL the ache or the unrest often before I have really even recognized that it’s coming. It’s often only after I’m trying to figure out what my problem is that I remember it’s because the trees are blooming and May is right around the corner. There’s something almost comforting in that for me…it’s not just my head that remembers him, but my body does too. Lach’s birthday is in June, so naturally that is the time for special memories of the joy he brought to us. We use May and June to do the Run for Their Lives events to honor his birth and death.
There is something mysterious in the passing of seasons. When spring comes around, time can somehow both stand forever still and continue to move forward. It brings both remembrance and growth. An honor to what was and a nudge to keep moving. The picture is of my beautiful niece and the Kansas Lachlan tree. It is a striking reflection of that quirky way time stands still and moves by leaps and bounds all in the very same moment.