🌸 Spring Came Anyway
A reflection on wintering, waiting, and the quiet miracle of new beginnings
Some winters aren’t on the calendar.
They settle into our bones with worry, sorrow, or uncertainty—and they don’t care what the season says.
Right now, the world is blooming. Trees are waking up. Flowers are stretching toward the light.
But I know not everyone feels like spring inside.
Especially for parents raising children with complex needs, winter doesn’t always end when the snow melts.
The Waiting Season
I spent the final months of my pregnancy with Julia walking through a personal winter.
A routine 20-week ultrasound showed abnormalities in her brain. That was the moment everything shifted—from joyful expectation to agonizing waiting. From imagining her nursery to imagining every worst-case scenario.
We didn’t know what her future would hold. Or ours.
It was a season of stillness and sorrow.
A season of whispered prayers and clutched hope.
What Katherine May calls wintering—
“Usually involuntary, lonely, and deeply painful… yet also inevitable.”
The Miracle Minute
And then came Julia.
Born on Easter Sunday at 11:59pm—the final minute of the day we celebrate resurrection.
Today, more than 23 years later, I still believe there was something sacred in that timing.
Just one minute later, and her birthday would’ve been lost in the blur of a Monday. But no—Julia arrived on the very edge of a day that symbolizes life, hope, and rebirth.
Our miracle girl.
I remember thinking, Maybe this is our spring. Maybe everything will be okay now.
When Winter Comes Again
But the thaw was short-lived.
Within days, we received her diagnosis.
Then came the seizures—brutal and unrelenting.
And with them, a fresh wave of sorrow. Fear. Isolation.
Another winter.
Only this time, we were already weary.
What Winter Taught Me
I didn’t have language for what I was going through then. I just knew I was surviving.
But now, with time and perspective, I see it clearly:
That season stripped away what didn’t matter.
It showed me the fierce, tender strength that lives in parents like us.
It taught me that sometimes, we bloom in spite of the cold.
And that naming the season can be the beginning of healing.
“We treat each wintering as an embarrassing anomaly… Yet we do this at great cost. Wintering brings about some of the most profound and insightful moments of our human experience.” —Katherine May
Spring Looks Different Now
When I think of spring now, I don’t picture only sunshine and daffodils.
I also picture:
- A nurse who becomes like family
- A cold and flu season without a hospitalization
- A small smile from Julia that reminds me she’s still here, still fighting
These are my crocuses breaking through the snow.
They don’t erase the winter—but they remind me it won’t last forever.
If You're Still in Winter
If you’re walking through your own winter right now—please hear this:
You are not failing.
You’re wintering.
And one day, even if it doesn’t come all at once, spring will find you.
Maybe not in the way you expected. But it will come.
Until then, give yourself permission to rest.
To grieve.
To gather wisdom from the cold.
And when the time is right, let yourself bloom again.
From my heart to yours,
Michele
🌷 P.S. If this spoke to you, I’d love to keep in touch.
Each week in The Weekly Special, I share reflections, small comforts, and simple tools to support you—right where you are.
It’s your weekly dose of calm, clarity, and connection. No perfection required.
