Remembrances

Fall is in the air today, that subtle sweet change that you can sense more than feel, almost as if nature is exhaling the heavy breath of summer. Fall was Mom's favorite time of year. She loved when the trees would begin their dazzling show of orange, red and yellow splendor. She loved the smell of apples and the fresh cider from the mill. She loved the cooler air and the excitement that precedes the rich bounty of Thanksgiving meals and Christmas surprises. She would stash gifts away all through the year, sometimes forgetting where she put them for years, but in the fall she'd begin shopping in earnest. Today as I left the produce market she was there, surrounding me almost as completely as the air. It was like she was drifting with the light breeze, her infectious smile and sparkling eyes as visible as the steely blue sky above.
Driving home I fought the feeling that time is slipping through my fingers as smoothly as silk cloth. I want to grab the moments before they fade but there are so many I can't hold them all. When I was pregnant with Josh I felt as though time was creeping by, like he would never arrive and my belly would just keep swelling until he literally popped out. But then he was here - and that was 9 years ago. It feels as if it was yesterday that he slept on my chest, a warm and snuggly bundle. It feels unreal that Carly is 2, that her adoption is final and she is really ours. I am still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the knock at the door that brings the revelation it was all a mistake and they are taking her back. I want to lock the doors and freeze time, hold us in place so that we exist just as we are, never changing.
Its been 4 months now since Mom died - that term makes me cringe. 4 months only! And yet it feels a lifetime ago. Already it is "normal" for her not to be here. I hate that the moments between then and now have slipped by so quickly. I hate that fall is here and yet I love it also for its reminder of her. The year is shedding its leaves, preparing for the long sleep of renewal. Perhaps I need to grasp this moment, learn this lesson, and begin again too.