At my home, the pool has been closed for the season. The leaves on the trees are nearly all on the ground. The furnace has been turned on.
There is no denying it: summer is over. We have moved into fall and winter looms.
This time of year carries many memories for me, seemingly stored in my bones as well as my heart. Both ache this morning.
As I look ahead to Thanksgiving and Christmas, I am acutely aware of change. Of who is missing. Of times past that cannot be repeated. Don’t get me wrong: the memories I hold are dear to me—but they are painfully tender.
Sometimes I wish that I could go back—back to when I was the child, back to when my children were young, even back to when my granddaughter was a baby. But I cannot. Time moves forward. Change is constant.
At Resurrection, we are about to celebrate our 50th Anniversary. What a lot has happened in those 50 years. There are a few among us who were there at the beginning. At the banquet on November 11th, we will hear their stories on a special video that has been prepared for the occasion.
Around our tables, we will share additional stories with one another, adding to the collective memory of our 50 years at RLC. Some of the stories we tell will not be our own. They will be those of members who have died.
Our celebration, I suspect, will be filled with a lot of laughter—and maybe a few tears.
This fall, several of us have been meeting together for Grief Support Group. A recurring theme is that the “price” of loving in the pain of loss. We have all agreed it is a steep price, but well worth paying.
I am grateful for my memories. I am grateful for the people I have loved over the years, including those who have died. I am grateful to God for this amazing gift of life.
Still, I will always be a person who enjoys summer best. Something in me will not let go of the warmth and sunshine easily. I know that the seasons change--along with everything else—but I will lament the changes each time they happen.
When I was in high school I had stationary that was imprinted with this saying : “Memory is the gift of gathering roses in December.” I am old enough now to know the truth of that.