Today, I find myself sorting through the remnants of summer. I’m packing away our clear plastic box that fits snugly atop our Ikea wardrobe. The wardrobe, much like the cozy sweaters and light jackets I’m rediscovering, is as organized as the day my partner put it together. We settled into this place just two springs ago. While spring is a time of awakening with budding flowers and fresh greens, autumn signifies a fresh start of its own. With the return of school and the crispness in the air, people flock back to the city, rejuvenated, ready to embrace the community, and retrieve their fall wardrobes filled with corduroys and knits.
I’m originally from sunny Los Angeles, so New York City feels like a vibrant film set to me, painted with the rich reds and yellows of fall. It evokes memories of my first year at university, when I felt the weight of my first cable-knit sweater. Football games, shorter days, and the warm glow of candles remind me of home and the excitement of the city as it lights up, adorned with twinkling white bulbs. It conjures images of midterms and holiday concerts, along with trips to visit friends in the countryside, where I would gaze enviously at my wealthier peers sporting chic J.Crew boots.
However, this autumn feels different; it doesn’t call to me like it used to. For many, the chill in the air and the dimming light can represent loss and sorrow. Poets often use this season to symbolize the shadows of despair that haunt us.
My mother is unwell. It’s no longer possible for me to ignore the reality of her condition. She’s been battling dementia, a diagnosis that followed a stroke at the young age of 68—a consequence of a medication that should never have been prescribed. That life-altering event took place in November 2009. Autumn was her favorite time, yet that year she was in the ICU while I dined on bland hospital cafeteria food.
Thanksgiving that year was also bittersweet. My partner was with his family, while I remained by my mother’s side, holding her hand as she lay there frightened and confused. Despite her memory loss, she found solace in the poetry she once loved. She sometimes recognized me as her child and found comfort in my presence, even as I watched my sister, pregnant and uneasy, sit beside us.
I promised my mother that once she regained her strength, we would visit the origami tree at the Museum of Natural History and skate at Rockefeller Center, where she once performed. I assured her that autumn would be waiting for her, filled with the cold nights she adored and the crunchy leaves that had always represented joy and possibility for her. She thrived in gloomy weather; it brought her alive.
This year, however, my mother is unaware of the arrival of fall. She’s back in the hospital after multiple visits this past year, grappling with anxiety attacks. I pleaded with her doctor for medication to ease her distress, and thankfully, it seems my requests were finally heard.
As my daughter approaches her 3rd birthday this November, I’m navigating the ups and downs of parenthood. After a peaceful period, I’m encountering what experts refer to as “disequilibrium.” It’s a natural phase where children test boundaries and often seem to overlook the good things in their lives.
My love for my daughter is immense. Many of her expressions and her radiant spirit remind me of my mother’s own childhood photos. She zips through the streets, evoking memories of my mother’s spirited youth, when my grandmother often struggled to keep up with her. That’s why she received her first pair of skates at just four years old, a testament to her energy.
Though the harmony we once shared is shifting, I know that this is just a phase. I trust that as my daughter grows, so too will our understanding and connection. I had a unique bond with my mother, devoid of rebellion or secrecy, and I hope to foster that same trust and love with my little girl as she matures.
The seasons I shared with my mother have come to an end. While she is still with us, our relationship now revolves around care and maintenance. I do my best to support her whenever I can, whether through visits or phone calls, as she occasionally seeks comfort from my husband, who often visits her apartment to provide solace.
She will never choose my outfits for school again, nor will she remember the little details of my life or her granddaughter’s name. Still, she delights in hearing her voice and expresses a longing to see her, even if I have to gently remind her that she just saw her the day before.
Now, it feels like winter for my mother. There will be no more springs or falls for her, even if she lives for years to come. I grieve for the past, cherish our memories, scour through old photographs, and hold my daughter close as I read her bedtime stories. I’ve become less concerned about strict schedules or rules, allowing her to enjoy simple pleasures like wearing her nightgown to the bookstore.
This is just one of many seasons we will share together. Regardless of the challenges, we are united, and we remember the joy of our days spent together. There’s still so much love, laughter, and wonder as we navigate life.
I often wish I could share my daughter’s world with my mother. I long for her to recall moments spent at the park or the days of my childhood. Yet, I mustn’t dwell on what’s lost. I strive to teach my toddler the importance of gratitude and to find joy in the beauty of autumn, a season that begins with her father’s birthday and the autumn equinox. The best way to educate is through our own actions.
This year, I refuse to surrender autumn to the shadows that loom. This season is mine, just as it was my mother’s. It’s time to celebrate—to play music, illuminate our home, and dance with my partner and daughter. And, when she’s present, with my mother too.
When my mother is no longer with us, it will be vital to cherish autumn as a time of joy. I will tell my daughter, “This was one of your grandmother’s greatest joys. It all starts now: the twinkling lights, school supplies, fall outfits, holiday gatherings, and the warmth of scarves on chilly evening strolls. This was your grandmother’s gift to me, and now I pass it on to you.”
Summary:
In this heartfelt reflection on autumn and family, Emily shares her journey of packing away summer memories while embracing the changing seasons of her life. With her mother facing health challenges due to dementia, Emily navigates the bittersweet feelings that accompany this time of year. As she celebrates her daughter’s milestones, she reflects on the importance of cherishing memories and fostering connections. Through her love for her daughter, she strives to pass on the joys of autumn, honoring the legacy of her mother while creating new traditions.