I was flipping through an old notebook and found this entry - written in March 2025 (10 months ago). I never sent this letter out through Mabon House, but felt like it was worth sharing now, almost a year later. I hope you enjoy it.

Hello friends,

I hope this finds you well and safe. Spring (2025) arrived early this year in Western Maine. Today it’s in the 40s and 50s with full sun, and it feels absolutely luxurious after the cold of January and February. I took a break from studying to go outside for a bit—picking up fallen branches for next season’s kindling, surveying my lower garden hillside. It’s covered in a thick layer of brown leaves, still glossy with ice. Another week of sunshine and they’ll be ready to rake up, making room for this year’s grasses and flowers.

Even with the beautiful weather, there’s no denying that early spring in Maine is not pretty. Half‑melted snow, blackened by dirt and wood ash, clings to the ground. Snowbanks look tired and worn down. Piles of wood ash—hastily dumped during the coldest parts of winter and quickly covered by snow—reemerge, a reminder of how desperate those nights were to stay warm. A tiny river runs down my driveway as the snow melts, carrying wood ash, dirt, and the flotsam and jetsam of last year’s gardens.

Springtime is not always beautiful, but it is always necessary. Anyone who has witnessed a birth knows it’s a messy business—beautiful, yes, but messy. Early spring is when the line between seasons blurs, and that feels a lot like my life right now. I’m in the pangs of a kind of rebirth, surrounded by mess: tangled emotions, a neglected house, and a life dominated by nursing school. I knew school would be a huge commitment, and it has taken up every corner of my life. I don’t regret starting, but another eleven months of this feels —at least in that moment—disheartening.

The birds have returned. A soft coo from a mourning dove, hidden somewhere in the trees. The woodstove is still going, taking the chill out of mornings and evenings. Outside, spring is brown and muddy. There are no leaves yet to break up the sun—just matted grass, dead leaves, fallen branches. Inside, I’m trying to accept this season of my life: hard, busy, and necessary. And still, if I’m honest, I want to skip ahead.

I’ve had a lot of regrets lately. A fifteen‑year relationship ended. Would I have been better off alone? I put my writing on the back burner to go to nursing school—was that the right choice? I spent so much time writing and blogging. Was it a good use of time? What do I even have to show for it?

A good friend and mentor offered some wisdom when I told her I felt like I’d wasted so much time trying—and failing—to find happiness. “Lorri,” she said, “you are young. You have so much life left.”

There is void in my life that was once filled with raising children and spending time with my significant other. The absence of both is something I feel acutely. I know that some endings are for the best, but grief doesn’t always listen to logic. It comes in waves, often accompanied by regret—the least helpful of emotions. Lately, though, I’ve been able to sit with these feelings and let them pass instead of trying to outrun them- my M.O. for most of my life. I feel apprehensive about the future. Even though I’ve always been fairly independent, I feel untethered now: no parents, no partner, no kids at home to raise. It’s just me.

Of course, I’m being a little dramatic. My kids may be out of the nest, but we are a close knit bunch. I have family and friends checking in on me, reminding me daily that I am loved beyond measure.

Springtime is messy and kind of ugly. That doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be appreciated. We don’t always have to seek beauty to find meaning. Sometimes the work is simply to sit in the muck for a while. I know these feelings will pass. My heart will continue to heal. The stress of school will eventually become a memory. And on the other side of this season, a new adventure is waiting.

—

Author’s Note

This was written in March 2025. I am still in nursing school, but with only a few weeks left. About six months after my breakup, I met someone who reminded me that I am still capable of great love. And most days I am no longer carrying the burden of regret - I feel as thought this year, as hard as it has been - was necessary - just like springtime in Maine. I’ve come out stronger and more resilient, but also softer and happier.

So, friends—if you’re going through it, or even if you’re just coasting along ho‑hum—consider this a reminder: sometimes the best thing you can do is keep going and trust that what you seek will find you.