In the mornings, before work, and before my little guy is up for the day, I sit outside on my and drink my coffee. It’s usually the only quiet moments I get until Mitchell is down for the night. There’s something about peace and quiet with hot coffee, even in the summer, that just feels right. My dog Bella, roams around the yard and takes off after rodents, occasionally a car will head down the drive way, presumably for work, and maybe a bird will chirp; other than that the only noise that I hear over and over again, is the acorns bouncing off my car.
We park our cars in a row that begins in front of our porch, my car, my husbands truck, and then his work truck. Between my car, and his truck is a big old oak tree, when the cars are moved, my son is able to swing high in his infant swing that hangs from the limb.
Every summer I sit out there and listen to the acorns dropping.
It starts at the end of July, and goes through September.
When the acorns fall, it is my season. My season of grief.
At Leeona’s funeral, my aunt read scripture from Ecclesiastes;
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.
This is my season of grief and of mourning.
It’s weird, how something similar can bring you back, my body remember things that I didn’t know I remembered. It’s the heat somedays, crisp, no moisture sun on your face kind of heat, that I remember at the funeral. I couldn’t bring myself to take off my cardigan, I couldn’t bring myself to strip off that bit of color and be left wearing black. The breeze was enough, to allow me to keep it on. The sound of the acorns falling, the sound of my cousins voice belting out “Amazing Grace” only cracking occasionally when her grief took over for moments. I remember the sound of feet crunching the dry over growth on the ground beneath us, and the sound of a dragonfly wizzing by my head.
So I sit on my porch, and I listen to the sound of acorns falling and with every ping, off the top of my car, I miss my daughter. I wonder who she would be and where life would take us, and what her voice would sound like. I wonder what would make me think of her, I wonder what smells, and sounds, and moments should make me remember her. How different this list would be if she had survived.
Theres this weird thing that happens when you grieve. Its like everyone in the world is “there for you” and they understand, and they want to help in whatever way they can, and then all of a sudden, their lives move on, and you are left there still struggling to keep your head above water. All of a sudden they have climbed into a speed boat, thrown you a life preserver and sped off into the sunset. You are bobbing there, trying to breathe trying not to drown. Like they have forgotten that you’re still learning to swim.
I’ve gotten good at floating, I think I have learned to swim, but there are still times that I need a boat. I think that if I had never been given the gift of being Mitchells mother; I would have drown already.
Remember when you see people who have faced a significant loss, that their pain goes with then everywhere they go. It doesn’t just stop once everyone has sped off. Remember that they will go through seasons, seasons of happiness, and love, and loss, and grief, it will come back and slap them in the face, sometimes even when they aren’t expecting it.
I feel my daughter more, during this calendar season, than usual. I face more pain, and more guilt, more emotions during this time of year, because im always left with the “what ifs”
I don’t really have a point to this post. I don’t have some kind of story to tell you, or a revelation that I’ve come to. I guess, I’m just asking, to forgive me if I’m distant, forgive me if I’m rude.
Be gentle with me.
I’m in my season.
