Dear April

You’ve started off well, I must say. You gave me a bright glimmer of sunshine when the forecast called for rain. You made my black suit, the one I cleaned yesterday, a little too snug today so that I wouldn’t be tempted to wear it, wouldn’t spend the rest of today thinking about how the last time I wore that suit was on a day filled with funerals. Your sunshine propelled me toward the purple-flowered top and black skirt, the three-and-a-half-inch heels, and I feel like I’m going to fall on my face in them but it doesn’t matter because I feel pretty.

You made my bedbound little sister wake up with a tummyache so that I could spend a few extra minutes talking to her this morning, chatting about why Dan Abrams is so hot and why we like Tim Russert but not Jim Miklawhateverhisnameis while I ate my oatmeal, and this made me late for work but I don’t care because I have the beautiful gift of being able to spend time with Ginny at all.

You made my lunch cooked perfectly. You made me realize that Ms. Laura might be approaching ninety, but her hearing’s not going anywhere. You made me remember why I love going to that fast food restaurant, to be treated like a guest by a spry old woman who was told to clean the dining room one day and ended up waiting tables, because she couldn’t sit by and make people get their own ketchup, now, could she? You made her so grateful for the tips we left that she came running out of the restaurant to thank us, even though we go there every couple of weeks and always, always tip her every time.

I have been a little kinder today, a little more graceful. You and me, April, we’re gonna be all right.

Thank you.