May was not the best month of my life. To say that one month out of my life was not the best is an odd thing to consider. I am old enough to have had many months to complain about, but it is difficult to single out a particular month of a particular year as just a bad month. However, this year, May brought a lot of heartache with it.
As a child, I was taught that March “comes in like a lion, goes out like a lamb” and that “April showers bring May flowers.” These sayings gave me the impression that May was a gentle month, full of flowers and sunshine. But May, this last, most recent May, was not gentle. It was not gentle in the literal sense, nor in the metaphorical sense. May was cruel. May was angry. May was rough.
In May, dear friends passed into the next life before I was ready to say goodbye. In May, people’s homes were destroyed. In May, a city I love was changed forever.
As a writer, when bad things happen my first response is to pick up my pen and pour my heart out onto a blank page.
In May, I didn’t have the words. Expressing myself on paper was foreign to me. I thought writing would be cathartic, a balm to my weary heart. But writing was the enemy. When I tried to put down what I was feeling, my mind went blank and the white space taunted me. I couldn’t write.
Now, May is over and a new month begins. I hope it will be better. I know that writing through grief can produce amazing results, but my heart needs a break from the hurting. So, here’s to June. May it be a month of moving on and continuing along life’s journeys.