In Love With Death
Fifteen years ago, I was talking to a woman at a party who told me she absolutely hated the Fall season. No bones about it – she loathed it and would never feel any different, no matter how many picture perfect postcards you could wave of New England’s vibrant color change.
To this day, this mystifies me. My favorite month of the year is October. I am invigorated from October 1st till well after the Christmas holidays. The month of October rejuvenates my spirit and I believe that the air I breathe in during that month sustains me for the rest of the year.
This same woman told me that the only thing she felt during the fall was the impending notion of winter. It was as if on exactly September 21st, her bones began to brace themselves for all things cold. At the time she had two small children and I asked her if the kids liked jumping in piles of leaves, apple picking, or of course, the thrill of Halloween. She told me that she didn’t do leaf piles(there might be ticks) and yes she did Halloween but it was generally in a safe place like the mall.
I wondered what sort of mind-set she had developed around the idea of change and the sleep(or death) as she saw it, of the winter months. These days, I wonder myself about the fear of death or rather the irrational notion that as an older mom, that I might not be there for all the great Fall seasons to come.
The Color of Midlife
I think that autumn represents our midlife years. It is the time when we have become who we are and we have tossed out all the things that don’t serve us anymore. We hopefully have let go of the trivial, the nonsense, and the pettiness; let them fall and blow away.
What a great time to be alive, when along with the aches and pains of an aging body, comes the freedom of a freer spirit and a personality that no longer needs to feed the need of the ego; no longer needs to worry about what others think.
I know that when I hit forty, I thought that I was on my way to that place of inner calm. But, I also know that when I hit fifty, with an eight year old in tow, I had not only found a place of calm, but more importantly had regained my sense of wonder.
Crayola on a Tree
“May you never lose your sense of wonder.”
When does this loss of wonder happen? I know that it does because I have seen it in my own life and those of friends. The days go by with a continuous and endless “to do” list and there is not a moment in the day to stop and look at the trees and their magnificent brilliant color.
Last year at this time, after leaving a soccer game on a beautiful October afternoon, I told my son we were going to go for a quick hike. He was not at all interested as he was sweaty and tired. I assured him it would be quick and it was something that mom needed and he obliged. We walked for ten minutes, him still in his cleats, down a local path, when he turned and asked me, “Mom, how come the leaves are so beautiful right before they die?”
The Beauty of Transformation
I was struck by his interpretation of the changing of the leaves and it took me back a bit to the woman who hated the fall season.
What was it that she didn’t like? Was it really the impending winter or was it the fear of change and/or the beginning or ending of cycles of life. Why is there such beauty prior to death? Why is there such difficulty prior to birth? I am not sure of either of these questions, but I am grateful to be in the autumn of my years with a child whose mind is full of the questions and observations that we often lose sight of in our twenties and thirties.
I know now that no matter how many autumn seasons I have with this boy, my boy, that he will keep me in check with what’s important to understand about change. I am in my female state of change and he is in his growing state of change and together, we are enamored by the beauty of it all.
“Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.” ― Albert Camus