On my drive into work this morning I saw the leaves, vibrant in their turning color. When they become their most vivid red, orange and yellow it means they are soon going to fall off the tree and onto the ground to die. It will be another nearly 6 months before new leaves bud again and bring new life to the tree.
I think a lot about Fall and how the death of trees intertwines with the death of Kevin. It will be 3 years on 10/28 since he lost his life and Fall is still an incredibly difficult time of year for me. Not just for me though; several other widows share the death or the beginning physical downfalls of their spouses in the Fall.
As the fast pace of Summer slows to an end, the cold kicks in, and the sun shines less, it is easy to sink into the swallow of depression without having the added weight of grief on our hearts. I can see the moods around me change. Worry wearing away at smiles. Positive philosophies slipping away to the negative and the fear. Uncertainty at what we’ll have to face this year around.
I know these things because these are my own feelings, and I see them resounding in others around me. Pain is harder to hide once you have faced it. If you have admitted you have been through something awful it tends to find its way out of your body easier, even if it hurts just the same.
I want to enjoy the fall colors a bit longer this year, if I am able. The pain has begun to escape and I feel it tiring me every single day. I see more images of Kevin in my mind than I have in months and the reflection on our journey, his family, his hometown, flash to me several times a day. The flashes hold good and bad memories but they are less intense than I have felt before. I am sure some of that has to do with the EMDR therapy that I continue to receive to detach the destructive emotions of the difficult memories from the memories themselves.
When you see the bright colors around you as Fall closes into Winter and the sun goes into hiding sooner than we’d like, remember us who hide ourselves during this time of year. Maybe you can share some of the sunlight still guiding your paths.