Author’s Note: I wrote this in October 2015 for a writing exercise for grad school. Transition to Fall is upon us as I saw one tree today that had blazing red leaves. Also, my bet is we are all facing other transitions…one sort or another.
I think about when I am going to die. Well, maybe not the when (definitely not the why or the how!) but the season. My problem lies here: I love all the seasons. I will tell you today that Fall is my favorite. I love the change in temperature, the cornucopia harvests, the trees showing their true colors, and the clothes. There is nothing better than a sweatshirt, leggings and boots.
Here’s my conundrum… Do I want to die in the fall or live all the way through it to winter? Do I want to soak up every day, every moment of seasonal transition? Or do I want to die when the world is most beautiful?
Then, I think about living through Fall into Winter. As someone who grew up in The South where we are as afraid of snowflakes as 1860’s Georgians were afraid of Sherman, I worry that if I die in winter people won’t be able to attend my service. Seriously, I think about these things. But here’s the deal, when I am in winter I love winter the best. I love the forced slowness, how sound is both muffled and amplified. I love walking my dog in the snow, snow ball fights, baking, hibernating. I want to soak up every moment of winter because there is beauty in stillness, in cold, in laying in wait.
Then Spring arrives in its timidity; first, the tiny crocus makes its entrance giving us all HOPE that the freeze is over. Then, practically without warning or worry spring just arrives in its full glory. I love spring. I love Easter. I love resurrection. I worry about dying in spring. I want to soak it all up.
I even love Summer. Hot, humid, sticky, mosquito-y summer. I love the different rhythm of the day, road trips, and decorating my house in red, white, and blue bunting.
Tonight by the fire I am soaking up life. The crickets. My daughter. The sound of a crackling fire. The heat from the flames. Perfectly golden roasted marshmallows. Today, I am going to live. Yes, one day closer to my death, but I want to let it be known that all of it–ALL OF IT–even the emotional winters, the spiritual resurrections, the births of children, the loss of husband/home/mother/job–ALL OF IT–all if it has been my favorite because it is mine. Blessed to see seasons of change/transition/hibernation.
Know that when I die it will be my favorite season.