I miss my mom the most in the fall
Even though she died in the summer and eight years have gone by, every autumn I feel it deeply.
Maybe because that first fall after she died was when it really hit me. I wanted to bury myself under blankets. Drink hot tea with honey. Read books full of emotion with happy endings. My body hurt.
Maybe it’s because now we live in such a brilliantly pretty, peaceful place and the kids love school and Greg loves his job and I love all the book stuff I’m doing, and I want to share all the love with her.
She is why I’m a writer and I ache to share that journey with her. She loved romance and she would be giddy with excitement.
Maybe it’s because my best childhood friend, a friend my mom considered another daughter, started chemo recently and of course I want to call my mom and cry say, “Can you believe this shiiit!” She would swear with me, because sometimes the world calls for swearing.
Maybe it’s because we have this silly, gentle new dog who is attached to my side, but is finally beginning to enjoy his backyard. I have to let him out and then hide so he will stop whining for me and GO PLAY. And go play he does. I can feel my mom crouching down by my side as we sneak glances at him. He runs and plays like crazy, chasing imaginary dogs super-fast, like a silver bullet. Tossing sticks up. Gallivanting about as if no one was watching. My mom and I smiling and laughing at the pure joy in his energy. Her laughter follows me still.
Maybe it’s the fact that I really miss cooking and baking with her and fall was our favorite. Rich pastas, her scrumptious chili, beef fondue, making homemade bread. I picture her hands kneading dough. Strong fingers graced by beautifully painted nails, gold rings twinkling at me. Her soft skin covered in freckles, a few age spots.
Maybe it’s the season, so preciously gorgeous and finite, this season of death and hibernation.
Maybe I’m in a season of grief. We think when someone we love dies, after a long time passes, we won’t grieve as much. But grief is never done with us, is it?
