The Warmth of the Sun

Throughout elementary school I spent a significant amount of time at my grandparents house. It was full of treasures, a mysterious basement, an attic for exploring, an expansive yard with a detached shed and hammock flocked by huge trees, blackberry bushes lining a hidden path to a neighbor's house with a pool, a creek full of rocks to throw and frogs to catch that ran under their yard (through a tunnel!), and bedrooms galore. In retirement, my grandmother became a florist and my grandfather a jeweler, so you can just imagine the trove that they had under their roof. One of my favorite parts of their house was their collection of reader's digest magazines. They were my size, so I thought they were for me. Almost immediately upon entering their house, I would pick one up and carry it with me throughout my stay. I have distinct memories of reading my little magazine in their downstairs bathroom, next to where my grandmother arranged flowers. I would sit cross-legged atop the toilet seat with rose stem clippings at my feet, the familiar scent of flowers and spongey green oasis filling the air.

Somewhere among the way-too-many pages I read was the idea that as you felt the new warmth of spring sun, it was your loved ones wrapping their arms around you. At the time I read this, several family members had recently passed away and I longed for closure. Without getting into the nitty gritty of heaven or afterlife, I can affirm that this idea has stuck with me. Now, well into adulthood, I have continued to associate the coming of spring with a time of remembrance.

As we walked through the woods on last weekend and through DC again this weekend, the newly warm sun began to peek through winter. As my body welcomed this warmth, I slipped into quiet remembrance. I am so thankful for the grandparents and great grandparents that have loved me well. I miss them fiercely, but I am grateful for the reminder of their embrace by the shining of the sun.

Here is another day we were out and about enjoying warm sun (albeit autumn) and remembering.

And more about my grandparents.