Autumn Turning

                                                                                     

 Fall 2016

Dear UD,

Autumn turning is glorious in the Missouri Ozarks. I spy golds, purples, reds, yellows. I spot colors. Colors that match the emotions of my soul. Passion, wonder, joy, sadness. It’s autumn, and the trees weep leaves.

Autumn is here again... The first I've seen in seven years.

Apple Butter Day, the last weekend in October, again my first in seven years. And the first family event that I went to where you should be there.

This new normal is still so hard.

There are still so many times that I want to call and talk to you. So many things I want to tell you or Dad. The simple act of telling…something no longer possible. I wonder what you and Dad would say about this election year. I want to listen to Bob Dylan with Dad in celebration of Dylan’s Nobel prize for literature. I want to talk to you about my job (another interview this month), family stories (past and present), Laina’s gothic class (she’s reading Jekyll and Hyde), and Lexi’s jobs at Universal.

UD, more than you knew, you held the family together. And without you, we are splintered, shattered. We miss you so much.

 

I remember autumn from your back deck, eight years ago, and now I stand on the same deck and gaze into the backyard. Everything is different.

No barking dogs greeted us. 

Trees chopped down.

No hummingbirds at empty feeders.

Old merges with new, familiar with unfamiliar, too many conflicting images pound my mind, bombard my senses. I am too overwhelmed to respond, to breathe...

The whole first evening in the not-yours-anymore house where your older brother, Uncle Bob, now lives, I couldn’t breathe, had to process.

That night I slept in the guest room upstairs, similar but different both in looks and sounds. The computer still sits in a corner with a gentle hum, but the bed and covers are new. And, all night I could hear music floating lightly through the air. Unnerved, for hours, I couldn’t sleep. I imagined you, a ghost, your spirit trapped, and I was supposed to save you. Somehow release your spirit so you could move on. Eyes wide awake, body strung tight, I listened and plotted. Until I realized that it must be a windchime, a new addition to a new household. Finally, I fell into a light sleep and dreamed of once upon a time in your house.

 

The next morning over breakfast Aunt Laura confirmed that she had put up windchimes, and I released the pent-up tension. Took a deep breath.

I realized that, in the end, the house is still full. Cousins, siblings still play games. Laughter and conversations still bubble and ripple through the rooms. And, like you used to, Uncle Bob made a feast. Homemade, homegrown, special meals. The royal treatment. People connecting and connected. All of it filling me with peace. Uncle David, you are now gone from this home, from this world, but your spirit and love are still here watching over us. I imagine that you glance around and are pleased. It is good.

Love, Rach

Postscript: I started writing this a year ago October 2016 when I was in Missouri with my family and I went to our Apple Butter Day celebration. But I couldn't finish it then so here it is a year later. I don't know that it's completely finished yet and I don't know that I'm ready yet, but it's Apple Butter Day again and I wanted to share it. Such is the life of writing, such is the cycle of grief.