When the Lilacs Bloom


When the lilacs bloom, I will always think of you. I used to go looking to find the first blooms and would snip off the prettiest stems and take them to you. Sometimes just a few, and sometimes by the arm load, but I always brought you lilacs.

The little lilac seems to withstand anything that comes its way. Late spring snow, freezing cold, and still they bloomed and stayed strong. No matter what the world threw at them they were sweet and lush. They brought you joy and laughter; your nose buried, breathing deep.

Then it seemed that as quickly as they came, they fell away. Still warm and fragrant even as they began to fade and lose their color and their joy. As though they gave everything they had left, because they knew they were dying.

The lilacs are in bloom and I know that before the month ends; they will die. I never even imagined that you would die with them. Everything in time will pass away and only the memory of their gentle fragrance will remain.

I see you now surrounded by the stacks of lilacs that I brought you. Each branch fully flowered, bright, vibrant, fresh, and full of joy. They are wild and glorious on their bushes no longer fearing the warming days. I know that you are where the lilacs will never again sleep. I will wait and weep as the lilacs bloom; until you can take me where the lilacs never wither.

Peace,

Joan

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