There are a few times a year when my heart gets really sad, nostalgic, depressed. Inexplicably. Usually in the Fall, right around Thanksgiving, when the time changes and the sun sets earlier, I fall into a deep, deep pit. I always had assumed it was Seasonal Affective Disorder because of the lack of light. When I started going to therapy, my counselor asked me if anything traumatic had ever happened to me during that time of year. Sure enough, Thanksgiving is usually within a few days of the car accident where I briefly believed my two best friends had been killed.
She explained to me that our bodies and minds are a well-oiled machine that goes through the same four seasons that nature does. And when we reach those anniversaries every year, our brains have been trained to release the same chemicals, put us in the same states of mind, and remind us of the feelings we felt during a particularly manic or traumatic moment previously.
Late Spring feels the same way to me, and "manic" is the best way I can describe it. May of 2013 was both the best and the worst, existing at the same exact time. My last week of work nannying in Nashville was impossibly long, and somehow not long enough. We didn't tell the boys right away, once I knew I'd be going back to LA, because we didn't want them to freak out too soon. My final week seemed like the right amount of time so that we could focus on wrapping things up without too much wiggle room.
I miss them all terribly. That's probably why I'm suddenly hellbent on getting my parents to retire to Nashville. It's the time of year.
But realistically I know that if I were to go backwards, I'd fall back into that pit of boredom, solitude, and frustration.
Unless my dog was there. Then things would be fine.