“It always amazes me to look at the little, wrinkled brown seeds and think of the rainbows in ’em,” said Captain Jim. “When I ponder on them seeds I don’t find it nowise hard to believe that we’ve got souls that’ll live in other worlds. You couldn’t hardly believe there was life in them tiny things, some no bigger than grains of dust, let alone color and scent, if you hadn’t seen that miracle, could you?”
– Anne’s House of Dreams by L.M. Montgomery
April is a time of planting, a time of anticipation for spring. With April comes a feeling of hope, the wide blue hope of colossal dreams and the quiet whispering hope from seeds hiding in dirt.
For me, April is also a time of remembrance. My cousin, Haejin, who had the purest heart that I have ever know was born in April.
Haejin is one of the many who are ‘gone too soon’. I hesitate to tell her story since in my heart it still feels like it is hers to tell—ironic since she is not here to tell it. She still inspires me. Memories of her stir feelings that find their way into stories. Her name is not on the internet. She never existed in facebook or twitter, but the remembrance is buried deep in my heart, especially in this month of hope, the month of her birthday.
Strange that in this time of spring and new life, I think of death and loss. I take out the sorrow and feel its heavy weight in my hand and put it back in my pocket. It will always be there. I am reminded that we are all building our legacies, every living day, whether we are choosing to or not.
Haejin’s legacy is in the memories of her, in the organs and tissue that she donated to others, and in the sadness and loss and love that plant seeds for fictional stories, . Maybe Alexander Pope was right, perhaps “hope springs eternal in the human breast.”