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I awoke one morning to see the first robin of the season. Outside I knew there would be crocus and daffodils I had hardly noticed as I'd
gone to work each morning and returned again each night. All symbols of Spring that had drawn little of my attention that year, and none
the year before, as I'd been too busy adapting to other changes that had nothing to do with the season.

It had been over a year ago my husband died. Though it hadn't been entirely unexpected, it still had left us in a numbed state of shock, I
hadn't expected. I mean, I expected the emptiness. I even expected a strange sense of relief. But shock?

Perhaps it was more the shock of facing changes I hadn't anticipated would bother me. And finding that the
things I thought would be difficult adjustments, weren't adjustments at all.

Like lying awake the first night after he died, listening to the silence. There was no raspy breathing coming from the room where my
husband had spent his last months. No groans of pain whenever he moved, and eventually even when he didn't move. I had not
anticipated the silence would bother me. By dawn I'd given up on sleep and got up to start cleaning my house. I knew we'd have plenty of
visitors in the next few days, people calling to pay their respects, to offer their sympathy.

On the other hand, the adjustment of becoming the sole breadwinner, the head of our household, wasn't nearly as daunting as I'd once
thought it would be. Maybe because I'd gotten plenty of experience during Jim's illness. Time where I learned not only how to juggle the
fiances just enough to keep the wolves from our door. Time where I was forced to make decisions I'd have previously deferred to my
husband, but no longer wanted to bother him, as it seemed every ounce of energy was needed just for him to remain alive.

After he died I'd return each day to a house that was eerily quiet, and that didn't change after my son got home from school. No, eight
year old, Jamie had grown too used to being as quiet as he could so he wouldn't bother his father as he rested, in what had once been our
dining room. He'd just go to his bedroom and do his homework then look at magazines until dinner. Then afterwards he'd visit briefly with
his father, though those visits grew more and more brief as Jim's illness progressed and he seemed to have little strength or patience for
his son.

I'd been concerned the effect Jim's illness was having on Jamie, knowing it couldn't be good for a child to be exposed to so much pain
and suffering. It had to be taking its toll on him; after all, no one knew better than me how stressful it was watching someone you love
slowly die.

I tried to talk Jamie into spending more time outside with his friends, but he hadn't seemed interested. I got so desperate to provide my
son some reprieve I even moved the television into his room, thinking he might like to watching some of his favorite shows. Yet, it was
hard to believe, the boy who I'd once had to threaten to get him away from the TV set, hardly ever turned it on.

No, Jamie seemed content just leafing through the many outdoor magazines his father had collected through the years. And it was this
pattern he continued even after his father died. Even into the next year, with no sign of changing.

Then that morning when I saw that robin I knew it was time for us to make some changes. Our home had become a mausoleum. It wasn't
me I was worried about, it was my son. I knew a nine year old boy should do more with his spare time than leaf through magazines.

I decided it was time to move some of those magazines out of his room. I went in and was shocked to realize just how many there were. I
mean, I must have been blind for months when I cleaned in there. There were not only hunting, fishing and camping magazines on his
book case, but also in his night stand, several boxes full in his closet, under his bed, and not only under his pillows, but between his
blankets.

As I moved another huge stack off his desk I spotted a calendar at the bottom of the pile, open to April. Then I saw it was a calendar
from the year before. April was the month Jim had died. It was almost symbolic, like everything had stopped for our son on the day his
father died. I even saw a red circle around a date. However, when I looked more closely I saw it wasn't the date Jim had died.

I tried to remember just what it was that happened on that day. Or, was supposed to happen, I thought, reminded that Jamie had done
little of anything other than school and look at the dated magazines since his father died.