Leaves

Do you remember when I fell and broke my nose?

A few weeks after that incident, one of the nurses told me a little story about the day. She said that, of course, they were concerned about me and my health. And I, of course, was far more concerned about Sam. She told me that they were all struck by the fact that when Sam woke up, his first words to me were about the beauty of the sunrise. (Something probably like, "hey mom, look at that beautiful sunrise!") And she laughed a little when she reminded me of my response, which wasn't "hey, Sam, check out my nose," but it was to also look at the sunrise (it was behind me) and agree with him, "yes, Sam, it is a beautiful sunrise."

He saw bugs and lizards, he noticed cloud formations and rainbows. He sought flowers and leaves, he splashed and he squished. Indoors or outdoors, he loved creatures of all shapes and sizes. Except spiders, he would remind me. "No spiders, mom." (Whew.)

Sam was always looking at the ground for cool stuff to collect. I've told you about how he liked to collect feathers. He also loved fall -- because he was always seeking the Perfect Leaf. There were usually quite a few of them, he didn't mind having more than one.

Last fall, we were out and about together and, as often happened, he handed me The Perfect Leaf. "Put it in your purse, mom," would be in his instruction, as though I would be able to protect the leaf and give it back to him at some later date when he could again admire it. So I stuck it into my wallet.

And then later on, a few days later, I opened my wallet to see it again:

I remember taking a picture of it, because I remember saying to myself: "THIS is what it is to be Sam's mom. To have leaves in my wallet..." and that's why I took the picture.

Now the leaves are turning again. Nature is stepping up for its annual fall beauty pageant. My leaf-loving child isn't here to see it. Last year we walked through the Heller Nature Center together at the end of October and admired leaves. This year....each leaf is a reminder that he's not here. Each beautiful turn of color tells me that time is marching on...and he's not here to check it out.

Walking thru the leaves last year. He did NOT want a pic on this day.

"Now is the time for turning," our High Holy Day prayerbook tells us.

Turning and turning...the world keeps on turning. Turning and turning....finding our way through a world without Sam....every leaf, every color, every rustle of breeze....he is there.

October 1, 2013 -- doing fall art at Ron Mac after discharge