William's Garden

We live in a fairly "old-fashioned" neighborhood, and there are forsythia bushes everywhere. It's the first thing that blooms around here, and it puts on quite a show in those early weeks of spring. But the rest of the year the forsythia is decidedly un-spectacular--in fact, it's probably completely forgotten by everyone except the gardener who cares for it. Its leaves shed in the fall, and it spends the winter bare-limbed and dead-looking--until the spring, when it quietly burst into a fountain of brilliant yellow blossoms, impossible to ignore.

It always lifts my spirits to see these cheery blossoms after a long, grey winter. This year, especially--after a long winter of sickness and worry, culminating in the loss of our beloved baby boy, I was desperate for the warmth and light of spring. When the forsythia began blooming, I was so grateful. I had felt so much like those bare, empty branches; as I watched them come to life so vibrantly I felt like maybe there was hope for me, too. And I was reminded of my precious baby boy--like the forsythia blooms, his earthly life was so brief that I know he will be all but forgotten by many. But I will always remember him, and I look forward with faith to the day when he will bloom again.

This year, I planted a little forsythia in a corner of our yard, in memory of William. Yesterday I put in some flowers--lily-of-the-valley and columbine. It feels so nice to have this little spot to tend, to feel like I'm doing something *for* my little boy.