Season of Goodbyes

The seasons, like life, shift from spring, to summer, to fall, to winter, marking the passage of time with tulips, green grass, dips in the lake, a blanket of leaves shaded in crimson, soon to be covered with the first snow, clean as angel wings. The cycle repeats, ad infinitum, but my body, bones crinkling and skin wrinkling, sits on the deck in my oak rocking chair, observing the passage of glory fading, too many friends succumbing to illness, and an aunt diagnosed with terminal cancer.

Death, I think, is just another season. And we fear it because we don’t understand it. We miss our loved ones that have crossed over, that have peered into death’s eyes and begun their new season. I miss our conversations, hugs, and laughter. I think that if I could collect my tears in a bucket, they would water my garden, and the lettuce would taste like salt. My mom says that my tears honor the dead, that they drink them from a golden cup, and realize how well they were loved.

My tears cascade down cheeks splotched with red. I look in the mirror and wonder who is staring at me. She smiles with my smile, and we laugh, reaching across the glass to embrace. She holds my memories, says she will cherish them and keep them safe. In this way, I rest assured that the goodbyes that push up my horizon, a veritable cliff of goodbyes, will not go unheeded. That my friends in their new season will live in my heart, that fall and winter, the seasons of goodbyes, will once again shift to spring and summer, and I will relish the scent of lavender and dip my toes into the cool waters of our glorious lake once again.