It’s May 1. As an Elder Millennial, I’m pretty much obligated to make the joke, so let’s get it out of the way:

Now that I’ve got that out of my system, let’s talk about liminal spaces, seasons, and why spring sucks ass.

Liminal spaces are transitional spaces. They can be physical or emotional; literal or figurative. They’re meant for passing through, not staying in permanently. The early stages of grief are liminal, and it’s not until you reach the stage of acceptance that you’ve really transitioned from a liminal sort of grief to a more permanent settled space where you can learn to live with the holes that loss leaves in your life. In a more physical sense, spring and fall are liminal seasons: they’re the seasons where the weather changes and nature responds by bringing things to life or preparing them for winter.

Spring is especially hard for a lot of loss parents because it’s a season of rebirth. We’re reminded of life starting anew at every turn: the buds on the trees, wildflowers blossoming along the side of the road, and baby animals learning to navigate the world. Plus the pollen. God, the pollen.

All of that green newness comes at an emotional price for loss parents. We’re reminded of what we’ve lost, and what we’ll never experience. Because pregnancy and infant loss are more than the loss of a baby; they’re also the loss of a future with that child. Losing a baby means losing first steps, first words, and first days of school. It means losing a million tiny moments of laughter and joy, and there is no amount of pollen that can fill that void (though the trees in Georgia certainly try).

And so we see our grief reflected in spring. We see the liminal uncertainty that comes with losing a baby reflected back at us in the warming days and cool nights. We feel the ache of empty arms as Nature reaches out and embraces her bounty. Sudden spring showers symbolize the waves of grief that flow through us, catching us by surprise and drenching us as we run for cover.

If you’re struggling to embrace spring and all it brings, you’re not alone. Spring has long been my least favorite season: seasonal allergies have been the bane of my existence since childhood, and the sight of a blossoming cherry tree is enough to bring me to my Claritin-dosed knees these days. Since Mina died, spring has taken on a new meaning for me. Spring symbolizes all the things I’ll never experience with her; all the growth that’s been robbed from my family. Spring represents a newness and an innocence that my surviving children lost when they had to say goodbye to their sister. Spring is reflected in the sadness that never fully leaves my husband’s eyes.

Spring is a season that symbolizes hope and opportunity throughout the world. It’s the season of new beginnings and fresh starts. But for grieving parents, spring brings reminders of what’s been lost. There is no starting over when you’ve lost a baby, and so often it feels like hope is just out of reach. Be gentle with yourself this spring. Let the tears come, and recognize that some seasons of life just suck. But also remember that those seasons of pain are liminal, and that someday soon the sun will peek out from behind the clouds and warm your skin again.