With every June 1st we count another year since Litsey died.
In each year's passing I learn something new about this grief and how it’s changed our worlds.
On every June 1st I sit uneasily in the day's long shadow
while calendars often mark it as the start of the long awaited summer season,
the season when pollen drifts sweetly through the air
from dewy blossoms to our awakened noses,
when the greenest grasses and leaves blind us with their vibrancy,
when afternoon showers paint the sky with rainbows in their wake,
when birds and bugs bring their singing beaks and buzzing wings to every space
that had once sat quietly during the winter,
when my loved ones’ faces glow with honest smiles
and the warmth of the summer sun calls us out of our shells.
Sometimes you can’t make things better or fair or even just okay.
Sometimes you can’t find the bright side with a lining silver enough
to push out the pain of deep loss and endless grief.
Sometimes, most of the time, it just has to be the First Day of Summer and the 9th anniversary of the Worst Day
all at once.