Lush and Richly Delicious . . . Yet Sad

What makes the season of fall so lush and richly delicious — yet also so sad and melancholy?

I am struggling with sadness this fall. I am loving the way the sunlight has shifted to a golden glaze on everything it touches. No more of summer’s glare. What is dying in my garden seems crowned with golden light that makes it glow despite curling edges and browning stalks.

I love the quality of the light and the rich colors of orange, yellow and red, and the way a single leaf can contain multiple colors of red, green, orange, purple. Yet as much as I want to enjoy this fall, I cannot seem to shake the sadness — and the depth of the sadness surprises me.

I am a person who is hopeful and rarely spends long periods of life in the doldrums. I don’t cry easily (at times I wish I did). Yet today in my therapist’s office I sat with tears trickling down my cheeks as I tried to explore this deep sadness that seems to have taken over me. When I came home and my husband said cheerily, “Well how was therapy?” I started to cry again and couldn’t find words to explain as he held me. I haven’t looked depressed or sad over these past weeks, but I have felt it . . . a blue-gray cloud that obscured even the lovely golden light I love so much.

Strangely, I am missing my Mom terribly even though she died 8 years ago. And I am missing my Dad who is still alive at 96 but who is not doing well. One thing I am missing is the confidence of their years of living that allowed them (especially my Dad) to reassure me when I came to him (even in adulthood) with dilemmas or hurts that I couldn’t resolve. He would listen compassionately and before we parted he would say, ” You will get through this. I know it is hard but it will be ok and you will figure it out.” I trusted that he was right because of his life experiences — and because he was my Dad.

Now I am the one who needs to offer such reassurances. Yet, I am struggling to believe in myself. I am carrying a lot of other people’s pain and struggles on my shoulders. I need to be my husband’s memory for appointments/ meds/bills. I need to be alert to and problem-solve my Dad’s care needs and medical issues. Lots more. It seems petty but I feel the responsibility (common to us first borns) to check on family and friends to be sure they are ok. Even if it is only on email or text, I try to write and reply to emails and FB posts as a way of checking in to see if others are ok. And what I crave and wish for is someone to check in on me.

I have been told that I don’t seem to need others. If true, I hate the aura that I must give off. I am not hiding my state, but I admit that It is often hard for me to talk about myself — in writing it is less difficult. I find listening — even listening deeply — to be easier than sharing what seems to me often less than the struggles or joys of others.

So I guess that shows why I am writing this. To be transparent. This fall I am sad. Very sad. I am missing the caring of my Mom and Dad, missing family and friends who used to check in with me, missing the planning for Thanksgiving and Christmas fun times together that no longer happen. I need to learn to trust that among family and friends I can open my heart and share not only the “good stuff” but also my sadness. I know it is true that family and friends would be there for me . . . I just need to take the risk and trust. And I need to trust that once again, as before, I will get through this. I will.