Tenth Month

 October. 

Leaves collected once upon an autumn's day pressed between the pages of a dictionary to remind me that Fall does not have to be a bad thing. I continue to appreciate this gesture made by a friend once upon a time in an attempt to relieve me of the dread.

The dead.

When I was still in college, one of the funniest human beings I ever knew died. On the twenty-fourth of October. At that time I wore his passing as a badge of honor. I was a survivor. I had somehow bypassed the reaper, giving me an absurd appreciation for Blue Oyster Cult. In those days I insisted upon those around me sharing in my grief. For a decade I carried around this outsized emotion that I could not seem to shake. 

Moving to California, getting married and having a kid made me reconsider this behavior. Those autumn leaves moved with me to my new home where the lines dividing seasons were less clear than the emphatic snow on Halloween where I was born. I learned to savor the way the World Series brought with it the sacks of candy that we were honor bound to share with the children who rang our doorbell. We had a dog who would bark every time that bell was rung. 

Then, the bell rang for her. She chose to make her exit coincidentally on October 24. Just a pointed reminder of our collective mortality. I tried not to connect this to the November passing of my father, but when my mother chose the middle of October to shuffle off her mortal coil, I began to accept the metaphor that is Fall. 

Making room for the Spring that will come and remind me of my son's birthday and all the rejuvenation that comes with it.

I accept the monument to the way things have stacked up. I am patient and extra aware of how things get darker with an eye toward the horizon. The sun going down just a litter earlier. I sigh and wait for the world to catch up with itself on the other side.  

October.