I loaded this picture and then stared out the window at the leaves of our pecan trees rising and falling on the breeze of this beautiful autumn day. I stared for thirty minutes, willing myself to think of some words, to tell with some modicum of grace where I've been.
I keep coming back to this thread of truth: summer 2013 sucked. Insert a whole string of cuss words between 2013 and sucked and that's what I've been trying to think of a way to say poetically.
Grief compounded by grief left me exhausted. The most manic mood swings of my life ruled the days (truly, some moments I would be enthusiastic and exhilarated and giddy with life and within ten minutes I'd be on the floor in despair) and the one wise thing I did was deliberately rode it out privately. So even though it meant a month of silence here, I know that was the healthiest thing for me.
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Yesterday was the fall equinox, and never have I ever been quite so relieved to see a season change. Equinox loosely translated means equal night, and oh, it gives me hope. Equal and balance and end and new. All of it. Come to Mama.
I want to sweep away the angst of the summer like so many leaves collecting on a porch. I know that the months to come are when the true weight of the loss of Kyle's dad will settle on us, and for maybe the first time in my life, I'm at peace with the short days and long nights and cold winds and low gray clouds of winter. It feels fitting and right for the season of mourning.
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And see? I didn't want this to be so melancholy, but when my fingers hit the keyboard, it's all that comes out. I think that too is why I stayed away a month.
But we've had happy and we've had good.
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So I say let's raise a glass of cider or Butterbeer or or wine and I'll be thankful for an equal night and you'll be thankful for what normal people are thankful for in the autumn and we'll move ever forward, but slowly.