When I was little and we kids were succumbing to cabin fever, my Mum used to say, “Let’s go look for signs of spring.”
It was a rare chance to have some one-on-one time with her. The garden would be knee-deep in snow, but she knew where to look: close in to the house and in the protected corners – here a bit of green, there the first snowdrops…
As time went on, it became a ritual. Through the awkward teen years and the doubtful twenties, it was a way for her to tell us that she noticed, she cared and to look beyond ourselves and see that hope was there. As I grew up and moved away, I tried to time my visits home to coincide with a chance to go and look for signs of spring with Mum.
And eventually the roles reversed. She grew older. M.S. made her life more difficult. And every early spring, I had the chance to show her that I noticed, I cared and that hope was still there.
Spring blew into town this week. I so wanted to call Mum and tell her. But she’s not here anymore.
Today Alan and I went for a walk. The snowdrops are out. Hope is everywhere.
May your days be filled with signs of spring.