With the coming of spring I always cherish that feeling of rebirth and a renewal of life. Winter is fading and the days are getting longer and everything smells better, sweeter. Even the soil has a spicy scent to it.

It’s a nice change from this winter, when I actually spent quite a bit of my time thinking about loss. We all suffer some losses in our life. Everyone grieves differently, and some more intensely then others.I was telling my daughter a story not that long ago about my first friend. Jay was a kind, sweet neighbor boy a year older than me. He lived two doors down from us in a very new neighborhood. So new we still had gravel roads.Jay was also my first hero. I remember it as clearly as if it were just yesterday, my Dad teaching me to ride a bikethe summer before my fifth birthday.Dad removed the training wheels, stood behind me, gave me a push and yelled, “pedal, pedal!” And I did. Unfortunately, Dad forgot to tell me how to stop.So I went flying down our littlegravel-strewn road as fast as my chubby little legs could pedal. As I whisked past Jay’s house he was out in the yard with his sister, and I shouted, “Help, save me!”Iremember his cry from somewhere behind me, “I’ll save you.”Jay was always a stout fellow, but that day that 6-year-old flew up next to me, and in the wink of an eye, pushed me onto the dirt road. Ouch!I was covered in scrapes and bruises — remember those were the days before knee pads and helmets. But I did not care one bit. Jay was my hero; he had saved me.We moved away shortly after I turned 5, and our families kept in touch. We moved back, though a few streets away, when I was 10. But Jay and I didn’t become friends again until high school. It was like having a big brother. And when I think back to that time, in many of my most fun, frivolous and naughty times, Jay was front and center.When we graduated, we once again lost touch. Jay had gotten a job in the food industry, and a few years out found himself in a bit of a jam. His motherasked me to write a letter to a judge regarding Jay’s character. All I could do was write about my hero, my friend and the closest to a brother I had ever had.The only thing I remember writing was that thething he was accused of he could never have done, and I even remember writing out a scenario that explained what I believed had happened, leading to his pleading guilty. I begged the judge to be lenient on him.I never spoke to Jay after that. His mother thanked me on his behalf and said what I had written had made animpact on the sentence handed down. When things blew over he moved down south, got a job as a sous chef in a fancy restaurant in mint julep country.He never came back.This winter, I found out through Facebook that my dear Jay passed away a few years ago. He left a wife of many years, children and a successful career. It was a bittersweet moment, because I was so proud of my hero and felt his loss so keenly, despite not seeing him for decades. I guess just knowing that your hero is out there, you always feel a bit safer.So as this spring blooms forward, I feel the same awakening, and gratitude that I got to have my own knight on a White Horse — or in my case, a 6-year-old boy on a red Schwinn — swoop in and save me.