I can’t wait to read your memoir and am glad you’re here and share your voice. Here’s an April poem by the inimitable Edna St. Vincent Millay:


To what purpose, April, do you return again?

Beauty is not enough.

You can no longer quiet me with the redness

Of little leaves opening stickily.

I know what I know.

The sun is hot on my neck as I observe

The spikes of crocus.

The smell of the earth is good.

It is apparent that there is no death.

But what does that signify?

Not only under ground are the brains of men

Eaten by maggots.

Life in itself

Is nothing,

An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.

It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,


Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

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What a painful way to hear of your brother’s death to add to the trauma you already feel this month. Your article illustrates just how differently we all experience life. My birthday is in April as is my husband’s and my best friend’s, so April is a wonderful month for me. It is cliche, but we never know what someone else is going through, so we all should try to give more grace to others.

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