The In-Between
Oh, March.
Here in Western New York March is always a strange weather month- it’s very much an “in-between.” The weather goes back and forth from 20 degrees and snow piles to 60 degrees and new flowers budding. It is “in-between” and winter and spring wrestle and taint us all with their mud as they do (and the inside of our houses too: I’m talking 3 kids + a puppy kind of mud everywhere). It’s brown, it’s messy, it’s in-between there and what’s-still-coming.
March does that to my heart and spirit too. It carries out that same wrestle - the wrestle between there and what’s-still-coming.
You see, March holds two sacred dates attached to my two greatest losses.
On March 17th, I remember and grieve and think of my dad. It’s not his birth date or his death date, but it is his favorite holiday. He was Irish through and through and so very proud of his heritage (to the point that he always used to imagine and boast that my brother and I had tints of red hair… which we never actually did, by the way). On St. Patricks day, he would possess so much joy, play allllll the Irish music and try to get us to dance with him to it, make the ceremonial corned beef & cabbage, invite friends over, and dye his beer green. Our family has gathered every year since he passed and we continue to partake in the same activities and foods in his memory. And every year on that day I am keenly aware of my loss and deeply angered by the addiction that stole him away.
On March 19th, I remember and grieve the birthday of our Lily (who would be 8 years old this year). Each minute of that day, I can barely gulp down a breath of air. Every stinging memory comes flooding in and it is enough if I make it out of my bed at all.
From that day until April 8th, I begin a walk forward of remembering each day of Lily’s 21-days of life. It is ceremonious. It is holy. It is gripping.
At a quick read of this, you might think that I have not yet fully processed my grief. By the way I describe it, it sounds extravagant and maybe too much for the amount of time that has passed. But I assure you, I have actually done the work to grieve these losses well and they have indeed found a healthy, well incorporated location in my life. They have become a part of me that is alive and is well. But, for some reason, every year, on these sacred and holy dates, March pulls me back into this in-between space, where the there of the loss and the what’s-still-coming (the hope of a better, resurrected end to these stories) enters into wrestle… browning the whole month with its messy mud.
I’m sensitive, I’m tender, I’m fragile, I’m muddy this month.
But here’s what I’ve found, in 11 March’s since I lost my dad and 8 March’s since I lost my Lily….
It is in this sensitive, tender, fragile, in-between and muddy place that I am most wholly shaped into the Image of my Father whose very presence becomes my hope, my essence, my breath each day. It is this in-between space where I am most available - the gap created in my heart… the gap created between there and what’s-still-coming… the valley in-between- creates a space that He fills with everything I need.
I always dread it when February approaches… knowing the tears and the hard memories that lie ahead. But then, when it arrives, I receive it wholeheartedly because I recognize it’s sacredness- I recognize this tender space where the Holy Spirit so often speaks to me.
So, I embrace it. I take off my shoes, I unclutter my calendar, I draw near my closest companions, and I walk into this holy land… the land of grief, the meeting place for the Spirit and me.
I know it will be messy. But on the-other-side, out there in the marvel of the Spring, I will emerge with new life carrying water for those who need it.