Spring Rain

For seven straight days, the streets of Montreal have teemed with rain. This morning is no exception as I watch raindrops bounce off the pavement and create widening circles in puddles at the curbs. Everywhere I go, I smell the pungency of wet earth and the delicate scent of lilacs and other flowers in bloom.

There’s something very cleansing about the rain; it washes away the grit of winter and helps us to prepare for a new season.

I think of the healing that takes place when we cry – what a release it can bring. Sadness and grief, when we allow them to flow through us, can lead to peace and acceptance. Men, especially, are socialized to hold their softer emotions in check. Why should crying be less acceptable than laughter? We all need to express both.

A year ago, in the month of May, my dear mother passed on. Fresh grass now grows on her burial plot and mauve tulips stand tall next to her tombstone. Only one or two tears slide down my cheeks as I pay my respects at the cemetery. Her spirit is free now, no longer bound by time or place or affected by the elements.

I can almost hear her shout, “Let it rain – let it rain!”