Falling forward

Ganma insisted B needed fall accoutrement in her two month picture. 

If you couldn't tell by the brisk 85 degree weather outside here in Georgia, today is the first day of fall. More than any other season, fall always feels like the start of something new to me. Maybe it is because for so many years my life was regulated by the school calendar and now is again as the mother of a student. Or maybe it is because growing up in Coastal Virginia, there always really only felt like there were two seasons (flip flop or boot) the whole year. Regardless the reason, the start of cooler nights and shorter days always invigorates me. Even though the temperatures are falling, somehow the whole world seems warmer and more inviting to me.

Today also marks three years since I last saw my momma before her stroke. Three years since I woke up in the house I grew up, secure in who I was and my role in the world and the safety of it all. Three years since I saw her in her best role - as the Ganma with the shining eyes at the sight of her grandbabies, the loving, gentle hands, the uplifting and encouraging voice.

Fall with her favorites

Molly and Albert would have many more. My daddy another two months. But today marks the start of the end of my story with her. And it is fitting that the first day of fall would be my last day with her. Fall was always our season. She and Molly had spring to talk about plants and flowers and all their green thumb glory while I nodded respectfully. She and Albert were both creatures of the summer growing up, more tolerant of the sun than anyone else, basking in the hot Virginia weather. Fall, though, was ours.

Both of us inherently planners, we spent the weeks with heads bowed over Southern Living and well -thumbed cookbooks, constructing the perfect holiday meals. She planned my birthday with love and care just as I did hers. We both planned and whispered and plotted for my daddy's. We talked mums and craft fairs and each year enabled the other to start decorating "just a few days" earlier. She sent B holiday outfit after holiday outfit, never questioning if there was possibly such a thing as "too many."

Thank you, Pinterest. 

The fall of 2012, I saw her every three weeks despite our being three states away. She came down; we went up. She experienced B's fall firsts and I felt comforted in her presence.

Our last fall together, our trips were scattered and infrequent. There were many reasons for that - both good and bad - but there were no plans for visits from her surprise party in September to Christmas three months later. Though there were no more pictures to be had, no more quiet moments of rocking or enjoying her house while it was still hers, we still had our fall connection. The daily calls and emails and Facetime sessions to discuss what B would be for Halloween and did I love mom's new topiary and where in the world could we find green crystal to match the Christmas china united and bonded us. Little did we know all this planning would not lead up the Christmas and family time we had hoped, but rather to hospitals and condolence cards and immeasurable grief.

Giant fuzzy pumpkin outfit courtesy of Ganma

Two falls have now slipped by since she passed. The first was the obligatory season of checklist grieving. Her first birthday with her gone? Check. First Halloween she won't trick or treat with Molls' kids? Check. First fall acutely feeling her absence every hour of every day? Check. Check. Check. Every day and event felt forced and holiday merriment was manufactured.

The second fall brought the joy and chaos of a new house and a new baby. It also brought the very real new grief of leaving the last house my momma knew me in and visited. Of having a precious child she would never meet or hold. Our lives continued and grew and changed, just as our grief did, the two continuing forward hand in hand.

B's first pumpkin patch

And so now we start our third fall with her gone. The next few months are all marked for me by the lasts. The last package. The last Halloween she oohed and aaaahed over pictures. The last email. The last Facetime. The last. The last. The last. 

But, as in the years before her death, this fall will also be the start of something new. A marked changed in the year for us. B has headed back to school. Baby K grows and develops and changes every day. We head into the most family orientated time of year missing our matriarch but carrying with us her traditions and lessons and memories. I welcome fall this year. And with every falling leaf and wooden decoration, with every pumpkin pie and pecan bar, with every quiet night under a warm blanket sipping hot chocolate, I will think of her. I will feel her love. I will remember all the falls we did share. And for a minute, the cold nights will feel that much more more warm.

Momma's last picture with all her babies. 

There is a time for everything,
    and a season for every activity under the heavens:

2     a time to be born and a time to die,
    a time to plant and a time to uproot,
3     a time to kill and a time to heal,
    a time to tear down and a time to build,
4     a time to weep and a time to laugh,
    a time to mourn and a time to dance,
5     a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
    a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
6     a time to search and a time to give up,
    a time to keep and a time to throw away,
7     a time to tear and a time to mend,
    a time to be silent and a time to speak,
8     a time to love and a time to hate,
    a time for war and a time for peace.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8