My short spells of tears have increased in the past week. About the same time that the cherry blossoms flowered, and the faint scent of jasmine arrived in our quiet Melbourne streets. Our annual reminder that Spring is not far away. Only this year, the anticipation of Spring doesn’t usher in the same sense of renewal. My tears come spontaneously and unexpectedly—and with such intensity I sometimes think I might split in two.

A few days ago, my two young boys reflected that what they miss most is going to the swimming pool. To glide weightlessly, float freely and splash without a kid worry in the world. I cried for my kids.