There is so much beauty in the changing of the seasons. This season is undoubtedly popular. There is such beauty in walking on crunchy leaves; all while witnessing Mother Nature’s rapture through color. On a sunny fall day, the breeze is majestic. To feel the warmth of the sun, yet fill your lungs with crisp air; is energizing. This season is comforting to me. Like being home. It’s when I feel like settling in. It’s when I feel like slowing down to watch, to experience, smell, taste, and love. It’s when I find myself seeking joy; seeking with intention. I savor this season. The brevity of it is like a “to be continued.” It’s so disappointing, yet you can’t help but be so excited because you know what’s to come.
Autumn is defined as “a time of full maturity, especially the late stages of full maturity or,sometimes, the early stages of decline”
Livia is my Autumn child.
For a lot of us, being parents we don’t always see the changes in our growing and maturing children. It’s common to hear something like, “Wow, Riayn, she sure has gotten taller.” or “Matthew, his voice sounds different than the last time I saw him.” or “Silas, he doesn’t look like a little kid anymore.” It’s because we are with our kids everyday and those changes literally happen right before our eyes. It’s hearing it from someone else that we are then able to recognize that yes, they are changing.
It’s the same with Liv, but it’s heartbreaking. We hear “Liv looks so sad.” or “It looks like Livia is having a really hard time walking.” or “Liv seems very distant.”
We’ve been in a season of change with her; and it’s been the hardest one yet. This season of change started with her silent aspiration of most everything and has overtaken her smiles, her laugh, her mobility, and other neurologic issues that we see on the horizon.
We’ve gone from a once verbal, running, and playing child to one that is just going through the motions of survival.
I can’t help but compare her life to Autumn. Just like Mother Nature’s rapture in color; is her existence. The beauty that has come from this child is indescribable unless you slow down to experience it. Unless you open your eyes, intentionally seek joy, and breath in what energizes you; the brevity of life will get the best of you. The sadness that accompanies these changes is present daily. I must choose to bridge the gap between grief and joy. It’s when I close my eyes and I remember her voice, I remember the way she loved to eat pizza and ask for more, the memory of her running, playing, hugging, and being a kid; that’s the crisp cool breeze that fills my lungs. It’s what energizes me and conditions my heart. It’s knowing that there is a “to be continued.”