The end of March is crocus time in our garden. Once, I saw two crocuses that had sprouted right next to each other, and their buds were still closed. They had been pressed to the ground by the wind and rain. Some days later, while still lying on the ground, the blossoms had opened and were showing their yellow stamens so bees could pollinate them.

I was deeply impressed by this. To me it was a symbol of continued vitality and purpose despite hardship.

Fifty years ago, I found myself in a situation that pushed me over the edge mentally, as if into an abyss. Two things had happened simultaneously, and they robbed me of all hope and the desire to live. I felt as if I were in a deep hole, alone, and too weak to climb out.