I miss my mother

It’s three years and six months since my mother died. Usually, she pops up in my head and I’m happy to think of her. But these last two weeks, I’ve been yearning to see her, feeling sad that I can’t.
I always wonder what brings it on. This time I think it’s hearing about other people’s much loved elderly mothers passing away. There have been two in the last month, and yesterday my lovely hairdresser (of 20 years) told me about her father-in-law who is fading away.
Or is it the season? The arrival of spring? The brightness, the possibilities, the new openings that she is not here to share?

April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
T S Eliot

Odd, isn’t it, that on Thursday I was delighting in the joy of spring in The Secret Garden,  and here I am tuned into its melancholy?