A Seasonal Ramble

Seasons and life share similar cycles, and I’m learning to appreciate them all

Spending the day outside in 70-degree weather, and then opening the windows and letting fresh air blow out the winter fog, has me eager for days of blue sky, warm temperatures, and soul-lifting breezes. I make my home in Indiana where all four seasons—Spring, Summer, Winter, and Fall—show up in the course of a year, and even sometimes in the same day. As I age, it seems the transitions from one season to another are blurred, just like the years that race by. Regardless if the seasons are shortened or lengthened in duration, all four arrive and bring their own specialties. 

The Seasons

My favorite season is Fall when the leaves change hues and flutter to the ground on crisp, gentle winds. My mind seems to focus more on creating, being introspective in ways that I should practice every day, not just as the changing seasons dictate.

The cycle of life is mapped out in seasons. Spring, a time of birth and growth; Summer—adulthood—when the freedom of possibility intersects with survival in the heat of life; Fall, when life begins to make sense and I see beauty I may have missed, knowing that the days of barrenness are nearing; and Winter, which is coming—welcomed or not—offering glimpses of what remains and what will be lost. 

Life’s circumstances—relationships, homes, jobs, blessings—unfold in seasonal cycles—and may be temporary experiences only meant to last for a season. The house that was a blessing is gone—why? My mother was here, and then she was gone—why? I once was confident, and now I’m a mess—why?

Life unfolds in ups and downs, and anything that begins eventually must end. I’ve learned that the beauty in the seasons is how I transition from one to the other. That’s also the tragedy of the seasons. I’ve spent years grieving mothers and our nest that is now empty—trying to figure out who I am—and then the realization that my life, too, will end. Oh, if only I could hit pause and just enjoy a moment of peace and happiness before it all goes away. 

“We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun. But the hills that we climbed were just seasons out of time.”*

Winter

Sometimes it feels as if Winter will last forever with its grief and loss and grayness trapping me inside stale, suffocating walls—around me and within me. Winter slumber has become endless nightmares of my mother dying, reliving the loss over and over, being haunted by the emptiness invading my waking hours. 

“Goodbye … it’s hard to die, when all the birds are singing in the sky. Now that spring is in the air, with the flowers everywhere. I wish that we could both be there.”*

Each day since 2017–the year my mom died and both my sons moved to different states—has been one step in my journey. With trial and error, I started to learn who I was both without a mom and not being a day-to-day mom—and trying to be and feel relevant.

Each person navigates her own path and finds a way to exist and experience and live—or not. Sometimes the season in the sun is eclipsed by tragedies that paralyze us, and sometimes we never recover our journey. 

But sometimes, we do.

Seasons in the Sun

Although I favor Fall, I’m learning to appreciate Spring, Summer, and Winter in equal measure. The flowers blooming in the Spring, watching the leaves sprout from branches, and that slightly warmer breeze that sends me too early to the closet for t-shirts and shorts.

Then Summer, my least favorite, because I can only take off so many clothes to beat the scorching heat. But I look at those days and am thankful for the sun and energy that fills me up. I embrace the days of heat, the rainstorms, and the foliage and floral changes that show all types of weather are needed for survival. I respect how each of those in excess can easily cause just as much destruction to life, property, and planet. (I don’t embrace the mosquitos, though. They’re just horrible.)

And Winter—the unknown. Winter looms before me, though I hope it arrives many, many years from now. The longer Winter evades me, the more I will have to live through the Winter of those I love the most. But I see the beauty in Winter. Not bleakness in monochrome, but beauty in hibernation, in each snowflake’s unique shape and size and longevity—some existing for seconds or hours, others lingering for days and months. 

At this stage of my life, I know that Winter could fall upon me out of seasonal order, looming in all I do and forcing me to stop and appreciate each breath that I’m given. Whether it’s the gray hair or the new fake knees or just being tired, I know that the Spring of my life is long gone, but I can still enjoy the Spring of each year as long as I’m allowed. I am filled with hope and excitement for the rest of my seasons in the sun.

*Lyrics to “Seasons in the Sun” written by Jacques Romain G. Brel / Rod McKuen, performed by Terry Jacks, and released in the United States in December 1973.