LIFE’S UNDERTAKINGS STEP INTO SPRING home videos (I was once so skinny!) through the lens of nostalgia and loss. Over the past few weeks, my “Mudville” perspective has shifted back to my childhood interpretation of spring: fun, play, friends, adventure. If I were forced to use adult language, I’d describe springtime as a season of rebirth, rejuvenation, and relaxation. Of course, many of us – millions and billions of us – are grieving multiple losses. A new season, even one of sunshine and warmth, may prove weak against the heaviness of deep loss. To you I say, please take this time to continue healing and growing stronger. Reach out to people and receive support as best as you can.
BRAD JONES
Owner, Ridley Funeral Home
My favourite springtime memory as a kid was the sound of a VW Camper coming up our street. The camper’s arrival meant that spring was finally here. My grandparents were returning from their winter home in Clear Water, Florida. The VW always appeared on a Sunday. It was always unpacked and parked by early afternoon. And my grandparents always stayed for dinner. If you’re smiling right now, I’m grateful. All of us could benefit from more sunshine around us and within us. Have you noticed this spring feels different? More lush and full. As if potentials we’ve never considered are finally showing themselves. A new season is emerging and imagine this: good news is starting to spread nationally and globally.If you’re an old-timer like me, you may have heard the expression “there’s no joy in Mudville;” a saying that denotes pervasive feelings of disappointment and doom. Indeed. If the pandemic ever needed a mailing address, “Mudville, Etobicoke” would be darkly perfect. But spring is all about mud. And what grows in mud? Just about everything. As we stumble beyond the one-year anniversary of the pandemic, I believe a lot of goodness is afoot. I’m not only pointing to the (delayed) rollout of vaccines or the lessening of restrictions against social connections and support, I am referring to how this past year has changed us fundamentally to the core. So many of us love new but hate change. And we’ve had to adapt to a lot of new, hateful changes that have forced us to slow down, look within and dig deep. I realized my mindset had shifted back to positive when I noticed I was no longer looking at old photographs and watching
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The rest of us, locked away at home and at work, let’s consider acting like disciples of springtime. To be a disciple is to love passionately, to dedicate oneself to our purpose and passion. Yes, this spring feels like a new beginning but it’s a season that has taken a long time to take root, grow and bear fruit. But then again, few of us felt particularly inspired New Year’s Eve; we just wanted 2020 gone, gone, baby get back, gone. But now with the First Day of Spring already behind us, can we not escape Mudville-thinking? Are we capable of adding more joy to our lives and the lives of others? Can we live and thrive beyond a lockdown-life mentality? Of course we can. Seeds of joy are planted in the gardens of our stories, our memories, our favourite people, and places. It’s true that we’re not allowed to visit all of our favourite people and places right now but soon, we will. In the meantime, let’s revisit the joy stored in our heads and hearts. Let’s reflect, remember and start planting rows of seeds containing our future hopes, dreams, and desires. I’ll never drive around my grandfather’s 1971 VW Camper hanging out with friends ever again (see photo and yes, it’s purple) but even as I write the words “VW Camper,” I smile. I actually feel the joy associated with the arrival of my grandparents, those renegade drivers behind that VW hippie wheel. The arrival of my grandparents from Florida signified the arrival of spring and the promise of summer. With one thought I am taken out of Mudville (which in my profession is often down in the morgue) and I am put above ground to enjoy the sunshine of memory and gratitude. One of the many gifts of grief and sorrow is the deepening of appreciation.
ETOBICOKE LAKESHORE PRESS
