Autumn Vigil: A Reflection on Change and Continuity in Family Life

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As the seasons shift, I find myself packing away the summer box—a clear plastic container that fits neatly atop our Ikea wardrobe. This wardrobe, along with its contents of scarves and sweaters that have just been liberated from storage, is as pristine as the day my partner assembled it. We moved to our current home two years ago, in spring—a time of budding life and vivid green trees. Yet, autumn marks a distinct transition: the return of school, the cool breeze, and the awakening of the city. People flock back to their favorite cafes, universities, and to their autumn wardrobes, filled with cozy corduroys and warm sweatshirts.

Having relocated from Los Angeles, New York City embodies for me the vibrant, cinematic autumns of Woody Allen films—crimson and gold leaves against gray skies, rainy days spent outside classic movie theaters. My memories of fall are intertwined with my freshman year at Columbia, characterized by the need for a cable knit sweater, the excitement of football season, and the bright lights that illuminate the city as it comes alive.

However, this autumn feels different. For many, the chill of the season serves as a reminder of loss and decay. Poets often evoke autumn as a metaphor for darkness and despair, reflecting the fears we hold deep within. In my case, these feelings are intensified by my mother’s illness.

My mother has been unwell for some time; her condition, dementia, has robbed her of the vibrant spirit she once had. Following a stroke at the age of 68, caused by an inappropriate medication, her health has steadily declined since that fateful November in 2009. Autumn, her favorite season, became tainted as she lay in the ICU while I consumed bland cafeteria turkey and gravy.

During Thanksgiving of that year, my husband was with his family in Philadelphia, yet I could not leave my mother’s side, even if she was no longer fully aware of my presence. Though she struggled to remember my name, familiar poetry provided her comfort. I recounted our plans for when she recovered—visits to the Museum of Natural History to see the origami holiday tree and ice skating at Rockefeller Center, where she had once dazzled audiences in her youth. Autumn, I told her, was still waiting for her—an exciting time filled with possibility, not just a symbol of finality.

This year, my mother’s awareness of the season has faded completely. She is once again in the hospital, grappling with panic attacks. After imploring her doctor for assistance, I finally secured a prescription to alleviate her discomfort.

Meanwhile, my daughter is about to turn three this November. After years of harmony, I now confront the natural ebb and flow of parenting, marked by moments of equilibrium and disequilibrium. My daughter’s newfound independence has led to boundary-testing and moments of frustration, which are familiar to all parents.

Despite these challenges, I cherish my daughter deeply. Her expressions and radiance remind me of my mother in her youth. I recall my mother’s stories of her own childhood—how she, too, was a whirlwind of energy. As I navigate this phase of parenting, I remain hopeful that my daughter and I will cultivate the same loving bond I shared with my mother.

Sadly, my relationship with my mother has shifted from nurturing to maintenance. She no longer remembers the details of my life or the name of her granddaughter, yet she still finds joy in the sound of her voice. I remind her of our moments together, but our connection is now defined by the cycle of care rather than shared experiences.

The warmth of autumn feels perpetually out of reach for my mother. Though she is physically present, she no longer participates in the joys of the season, and I find myself mourning that loss. In contrast, I strive to create meaningful experiences with my daughter, allowing her to revel in the beauty of autumn. I remind her that this season was once a source of joy for her grandmother, and I wish to instill that appreciation in her.

As I embrace autumn, I understand the importance of celebrating life, even amidst loss. I share with my daughter the magic of this time: from festive store displays to cozy gatherings and the twinkling lights that adorn the streets. When my mother is no longer with us, it will be crucial to honor the joys of autumn, a legacy she passed down to me and that I now pass on to my daughter.

In conclusion, while I navigate the complexities of caregiving and parenting, I aim to foster an appreciation for the season that embodies both memories of my mother and the promise of new experiences with my child.

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Summary

This narrative reflects on the transitions of autumn in the context of family relationships, highlighting the interplay between memories of a loved one suffering from illness and the joys of parenting. It emphasizes the importance of cherishing the moments of life, even in the face of loss, and instilling a sense of appreciation for the seasons in the next generation.