Today I noticed a flush of red-orange leaves in a tree still predominantly green.  There are many such hints of the coming autumn here in the northeastern United States.  A few trees are losing their cover; colors are sneaking into view.  The changes call to mind other seasonal passages.  And I am reminded that it is six months since Aidan died.

    He died on the last day of winter, the day before the first day of spring.  When I realized the timing then, I found some solace:

  It was almost as if he was reassuring
us that, with time, our grief would pass, the darkness would yield to
light, we would find joy in life again.   The days are longer now, even
if it is likely to snow today here in Western Massachusetts, and we are
finding our way.  Laughter is possible.

 But now we are on the other side of the divide, close to the last day of summer, the first day of fall.  Things are slowly dying.  You can see it everywhere.  The underbrush along the back of my yard is thinning out as tall weeds succumb to the shortening days and falling temperatures.  In front of the house, tiger lilies are long past their flowers.  The hummingbirds are already gone from our feeder on their way south.  Geese mournfully declare their departure.

    It can be a sad time of year, if all you see is decay and demise. 

   But one of the things Aidan taught me, through our daily routines, was to look past the limitations and disability and sadness, and see the beauty that surrounds us: the beauty in his eyes and fair-skinned face; the beauty of his silent presence; the beauty of the regular rise and fall of his breaths in peaceful sleep. 

   And so today I look past the gray sky and tearful rain that highlights the natural sadness of the dying flora all around.  I see the brightness in my students’ eyes; the love in my daughter’s heart; the myriad happy comings and goings of the town.  And I see Aidan’s continuing presence in my life.  It is a new season, but not simply a sad one.

The master came in
time with his own season and then followed it away.  If you’re at peace
with such seasons, if you’re at home following them, then sorrow and
joy can never touch you.

           – Chuang Tzu (42)