This is about the time that all the trees with their dried out leaves begin to whisper about the Fall.
It is a time of year I normally love.
This year it is tainted and darker. There is more than just random stories in the chatter of the leaves. More than just a collection of memories from the stretched days of spring and summer.
This year there is a hushed conversation. Tentative and strained.
It feels like the preparation for a reenactment of that day. The day that will come again in about 3 week’s time.
The day the police officer and his irritating sidekick (what was she? Victim’s services? I don’t even remember, her demeanor made me cringe, even in my shock) arrived to say those words “I’m sorry to inform you, at about 2:30 this afternoon, your daughter passed away”.
I feel it like yesterday.
And it feels as though it is building up toward that scene once more. A horrible anniversary special.
Autumn has always been my favourite time and I recall last autumn, after she passed how deeply every single bit of seasonal glory stabbed me in the chest with a physical pain I could not have imagined. The feeling of her presence pulling out, separating, removing itself from my being, where it had been for almost 24 years.
As the days grow shorter and the dialogue of the trees becomes more consistent, I find myself in a precarious place of joy and agony.
I will love you forever. Through All of Time and Space.