In the sweltering heat of July, our star magnolia tree has its mind on the future. A tiny little bud appears at the tip of each branch, hidden by the green leaves. As summer draws to a close and fall begins, it drops just a few leaves and unveils the buds, slightly larger now. When the frost comes, the buds grow little fuzzy jackets, to keep them warm through the long, cold winter. Nate and I check on them every night when we get home from school. Fuzzy jackets? Check. Can I pet them? Sure. He gently strokes one with a fingertip, and smiles. He knows what’s coming next.

Winter will be here soon, with the shoveling and the shoveling and the shoveling. But as we always have before, we will wear our fuzzy jackets and keep ourselves warm. And as the last of the snow melts away, the fuzzy jackets begin to unzip, just a little. Nate is right on top of it: “Spring is almost here, the jackets are opening!” Every day, a little more, until finally KABOOM! the tree explodes in a riot of giant pink flowers. The fragrance is intoxicating, and there’s no mistaking it: spring is here again.

It’s such a basic life lesson: change is the only constant. Five little words—”we think you have cancer”—and everything changed for us. When Sarah died, it was March, the beginning of spring in the Northern Hemisphere. It was strange to see the icicles melting and the world coming back to life all around me, when in my heart, it was winter. I kept my fuzzy jacket zipped up tightly.

I was cold for a long time.

But my magnolia tree is a living reminder: winter doesn’t last forever. As 2007 was winding down, and the weather grew colder, my heart began to thaw out. I met a girl, and I asked her to dinner. I introduced her to Nate. And as we all decorated the Christmas tree together, I realized that we weren’t just celebrating our second Christmas without Sarah. We were celebrating our first Christmas with Sandy.

I’ve always known that I do my best writing when I’m miserable. So if you’ve wondered why I haven’t been posting as often, now you know. It’s not just that we’ve been busy, with the road trips, and the vacations, and the fireworks on the Vineyard. It’s the falling in love. I’m happy. We’re happy. And even though I’ll never stop missing Sarah—even though the leaves are falling off the magnolia tree—there are big, pink flowers in my heart.