Changing of the Seasons

In my neighborhood, once the Halloween decorations came down on November 1st , the Christmas lights immediately were hung. It's fascinating to me how we shift our perspective according to the retail sales schedules, and not necessarily the days on the calendar. I remember during my childhood, my mother would take the pumpkin we carved for our Halloween jack-o-lantern, and break it down to become the first pumpkin pie of the season. This ushered in the official change of the season for our household.

That familiar smell of cinnamon, nutmeg, and vanilla wafting from the kitchen oven was the first indication that November had arrived, and Thanksgiving was on its way. If cooking was a love language, then mom spoke it with a high level of fluency. She enjoyed the process of making comforting dishes from scratch, relying on recipes that only existed in her heart. As a young girl, I would join her in the kitchen, sitting on a stepping stool, anxiously awaiting my assignment as I proved myself worthy of being her food prep companion. She taught me that cooking was an art, which required discipline, consistency and patience. The love that she poured into these meals was returned to her as she watched the enjoyment that others experienced by eating her food.

I have to admit, this change of season, from summer to fall has been difficult for me, as yet another milestone has found me since mom's passing in July. I haven't had the desire to engage in activities that we would do together over the years. An undeniable combination of numbness and sadness have permeated my kitchen. In what has always been the anchor of my home, I stand frozen, looking at my kitchen mixer, oven mitts, and wooden spoons neatly in their place. All while feeling permanently out of place. This season feels strangely unfamiliar.

2024 has been one of the most challenging years of my life. As a professional, I pushed myself to limits I wasn't sure I was capable of sustaining. I traveled from coast to coast for Insurance Conferences, speaking engagements, and other business related travel. I attended a total of 13 conferences, which sets an all time personal record. During this same time, in my home, I found time to hold my mother's hand and hug my father's shoulder as we traversed the winter season of mom's life. Her battle with Lewy Body Dementia resulted in the loss of her ability to maintain the strength and independence which were hallmarks of her life and identity. As her daughter and caregiver, the daily challenge was finding ways to allow her to maintain her dignity, while supporting her in her limitations. I'm thankful to have been by my father's side as he held mom's hand, and she drew her last breath. After fifty years of marriage, and seventy seven years of life, July 18th would bring to a close the final chapter of mom's story, and usher dad into the next season of his life.

The seasons change, whether we are ready for them or not. The summer temperatures eventually give way to the brisk winds of autumn, and the daylight hours get shorter. Leaves change colors, and move from the full tree branches to blanket our lawns. Each year, we pack away our swimsuits and shorts and rediscover the sweaters and jackets from the year before. However, sometimes, the changes throughout the year cause us to re-evaluate the wardrobe we have held onto. What do you do when your favorite pieces no longer fit? When your annual traditions don't feel the same because there is an empty seat at your dining room table? We adapt.

This fall, I have been reassessing who I am, what matters most, and fits comfortably. This process means stepping back from places where I used to belong, roles I used to fill, and identities which no longer reflect who I am becoming. I am realizing that there are things I will never wear again, and the time has come to pass them along. During this season of my life, I will understand how to perform addition by subtraction, and embrace quality over quantity.

Just as I have embraced the silver strands which replaced my midnight black hair, and the wrinkles that emphasize my smile, I will walk into this season with reflection, gratitude and expectation. I pray that you find ways to do the same.