The leaves on our favorite hickory tree are turning yellow again, the first tell-tale sign that autumn is officially here. It’s a familiar sight out our front window that I love, but one that has brought a sense of dread for the last 4 years.
Autumn means the arrival of death and not just for leaves. Just as the air cools and the leaves fall until winter arrivals and the branches are barren, so the autumn of 2020 slowly took Greg away until winter came and he was gone.
It feels impossible but it’s true: by the end of the month we will have lived for 4 years in this home without him. We closed on it on Halloween 2016. By Halloween 2020, Greg could barely stay awake for our social-distance festivities and couldn’t participate in trick or treating. Less than two months later he was gone. Those four years of life and memories in this home feel far longer and weightier than they sound. Those years with him felt more whole, more right, and more significant than the 4 years since. It feels like I blinked and somehow he’s been gone for as long as he was here.
It would be easy to wish away these years if it wasn’t for my son. During these years he went from a little 6 year old to a 10 year old nearly as tall as me. Looking at him, I can see how much these last 4 years matter. For me they are fuzzy with grief and stress- hard to remember in much detail. For him, they make up a bigger portion of the years he will actually remember. They are his childhood: the sweet memories he will look back on through the rosy lens of nostalgia someday.
4 years is a long time and it isn’t. It’s long enough for so much change and yet not so long that the longing for ends.
And though I treasure the 4 years when Greg was here, the changing of the leaves reminds me that time keeps moving on. Life keeps moving on.
So I hold on to the memories as I try to embrace today. Life can only be lived forward. There’s another winter on it’s way.
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