When the leaves start to fall, I think about going to visit my ex-mother-in-law when she was dying. Their street would be covered in leaves, and it seemed like it rained all the time that year. I can still picture those wet leaves stuck to the pavement. Something so ordinary, but all these years later, fall brings me right back to that street and that time in our lives.
When the snow starts falling, I think about calling my Mom Mom Ginocchio at her apartment to ask if she’d shoveled herself out yet. She hated the snow, and I was teasing her, just being silly. Those are the calls you don’t think much about when you’re making them. Then one day, you would give anything to make one again.
That’s what the change of seasons does to me. It brings people back through the smallest things. A wet street. A weather forecast. Something that makes me laugh and reminds me of someone I wish I could share it with.
But it also reminds me that life keeps going.
Another season. Another holiday. Another ordinary Tuesday. Every first, every triumph, every win, every loss. Things happen that we want to tell them about, and they’re still not here.
I think about my kids, of course. There isn’t a season that comes without their absence. But I think about all the other people who have gone before us, too. The older we get, the more people there are to miss. The more we understand how precious it was to have them here, even on the days when nothing special happened.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about my friend Tommy. About how much he loved Bigfoot and Mona, that little dog with the silly voice. We would send reels back and forth and just be silly. Those little exchanges didn’t need a reason. Something was funny, and we knew the other person would think so, too.
The last time I saw him, I was with my friend Lou, and Tommy wasn’t even able to talk to me. I think about that visit, and then I think about all the laughter before it. How quickly we can go from sending someone something ridiculous to wishing we could hear their voice.
And somehow, all of this makes me think about the people who are still here. The people I give my time to. The relationships I keep making room for, even when I’m not sure they deserve that space anymore.
That’s hard to admit. Sometimes making the circle smaller seems scarier than keeping people in it who hurt us or leave us feeling alone anyway. When you’ve already lost so many people, choosing to let someone go can feel like more loss. Even when you know something needs to change.
I’m still figuring that part out.
I know life is precious. I’ve learned that in ways I wish I hadn’t. But knowing it and deciding how to spend the time we have left are two different things.
So I watch the leaves fall. I remember the street, the phone calls, the silly reels, and all the people connected to them. I miss my kids. I miss the people who knew me in different seasons of my life.
And I try to remember that this season is part of my life, too. There are still people to call, things to laugh about, and ordinary days that I may someday wish I could have back.
And then I get a picture from my sister. It’s her, my niece, and their two best friends standing in front of the Parthenon, enjoying their cruise vacation in Greece. The message says, “Wish you were here.”
She knows I’m not there, but she gives me the next best thing. She sends me a little piece of where she is and lets me know she’s thinking of me.
And it makes me grateful. Maybe even extra grateful for the people who are still here—and who wish you were there with them.
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