years later.

via NYT

More than any other season, the coming of fall moves me to remembrance. The crisp air and turning leaves herald anxious first days of school, cross country races, divorce, the beginning and end of my own relationships, death, and the assumption and throwing off of religious beliefs. If anything is going to happen in my life, it happens in the fall. When nature goes into transition, so do I.

As time has passed, I've traded the dread of autumn- oh no, my life is going to fall apart, again- for preparation. Anticipating upheaval, why, It's mid-September and I've already lost and gained back the stress weight, feverishly baked pies, brownies, and cookies to impose order on my world, vacillated between sunny and sad music (mostly sad), lived for every solace bringing family phone call, and heck, I've even thrown myself into my work with all the intensity of a first year PhD student so that I don't have to think about things. I still feel the losses, the abject loneliness that comes with things you can't change, but with time I have the benefit of experience and hindsight to buoy me through it.

Because nobody can tell you at the time:

that eight years after your parent's divorce, your family will be healed and emerging as something bigger, better.

that seven years after she died that you will have found reserves of love to give that you didn't know you had.

that five years after he died, you'll be finding tranquility every day on a bike his memory spurred you to buy.

that five years after he broke your heart and you started to think about your potential, you'll be well travelled, doing fulfilling work on another coast, and someone you never could have been otherwise.

that two years after you left the church, you'll be living a life of untrammeled authenticity, boundless hope, and uncomprehendable peace.

Like Eve, I will take what the fall gives me.