It is early September and the transition to early Fall has begun. Fall has not arrived yet, but I am beginning to see the golden hue of the soybean crops and the tan of the corn stalks. Many of the trees are starting to turn. They are mostly still green, but the foreboding of winter is appearing as gold, red, and orange in the tips of many trees in my neighborhood.

This time of year triggers my grief with a flood of memories.

By mid-September of 2022, Amy was impacted by the increasing pain caused by cancer spreading in her bones. She began to resist coming downstairs in our house as she no longer felt confident navigating the stairs. She was most comfortable in her room. Her office was on the same floor and she tried to work a few hours each day not out of necessity, but as a distraction.

That autumn, for me, felt like time had slowed and stopped. Each day felt like the movie Groundhog Day. I was caught in a seemingly endless loop of chemo, care for Amy, working, and household duties.

My one reprieve each day was walking Macc. I could only be out of the house for short periods. Macc would get a 10-to-15-minute walk twice each day, once in the morning before Amy got up and once after dinner each night.

During this time, I noted as never before the daily changes of the season. Fall began slowly but accelerated with a burst of color. As October arrived, I noticed which trees lost their leaves from day-to-day and could not help but think of its’ metaphor for our lives.

Two years removed from that seemingly endless loop; I still notice the changing of the fall season more vividly than the others. I walk slower and more deliberately to take in the daily changes surrounding me.

They say time heals all wounds. I have found that to be a fallacy. Grief is like a large scab on your soul. It appears to heal, but from time to time it gets unceremoniously ripped off by memories, events, or emotions. I fear for me it will never truly heal. Nevertheless, each day and season that passes, I feel stronger and more alive.

It is hard to articulate why. Maybe only my fellow widow/widowers will relate. I believe there is a life out there for me and others who have experienced this ultimate loss. It may not hold the bounty of happiness we once had within our grasp and envisioned for our future, but it can still hold a measure of joy and optimism.

As I observe the changing of this fall season, I am eagerly anticipating the celebration of Carson and Hayley’s wedding vows. I also look forward to the possibility of becoming a grandparent (if they are so blessed) and watching their love continue to grow as they navigate life together.

Their devotion and love for each other provides me renewed strength. A changing of the season.

Thank you for reading My Joy Journey of Hope. I am always interested in hearing your thoughts and reactions to these Reflections. Please complete the form below to communicate those to me. Thank you for following my joy journey.

One Comment

  1. Cynthia Moylan October 28, 2024 at 11:09 AM - Reply

    Very nice Mark. It is all so true. I have not lost a spouse, but my parents in the last few years. You never completely heal from the loss. My days are pretty good, until a memory comes up. Love to you and your family♥️

Leave A Comment