I’m really glad March is almost done. It’s not my favorite month. In Minnesota, we normally see at least one big snowstorm. It’s like Old Man Winter flipping us the middle finger as he shuffles off into the warmth of April. I’m not fond of March because by this time of the season, I’m sick of the snow.

I come by my dislike of March honestly. March marks the passing of two important men in my life. My Dad and my friend Bruce Kramer. Both left this life within a year of each other. My marriage also died in March. This is the second March since my mother had surgery for a surprise case of lung cancer. The month is packed with grief, anxiety and wistful, poignant memories.

This March, I’ve noticed my Facebook feed filled with what seems like an unrelenting stream of sad stories. Parents who have passed or, in the case of one friend, are in the process of passing…her father’s last days being spent in the fog of Alzheimer’s. The beloved pets of many friends have crossed the Rainbow Bridge this month. One friend was hoping for good news from a PET scan for his cancer but didn’t get it. Now he’s left with more questions than answers about a path forward.

I was in a dark mood the other day about all of this, stewing over my dislike of this time of year, when I noticed a Christmas cactus, which came from cuttings from my Grandma Wurzer’s mother plant, blooming. It has a single, perfect bloom. That one flower is a vibrant shade of magenta. You can’t help but stare at it. It is a lone and lovely call to focus my attention on what is. A reminder that this is a new season, with new hope and certainly new possibilities. I got the message. I’m also choosing to look at that little flower as a delightful sign from Grandma Wurzer, who always found joy no matter the circumstance.

Thanks for the reminder Grandma!

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