I love fall. Particularly, October. The smell of fire in the air. Pumpkin spice lattes, playoff baseball, Halloween. (That could be a controversial observation in Christian circles, but it was fun to dress up as a kid and get free candy.) Fall is my favorite season. It also reminds me of my time in New York City.
I was an 18 year old kid running around Manhattan at my performance arts conservatory. It was 2004 and there was nothing like the feeling of the crisp air as I strolled down Broadway on the upper west side. It was 2004 when the Boston Red Sox came back from a 0-3 deficit in the ALCS to beat the Yankees to go on and win the world series. But, we don’t talk about that in my house.
While fall is my favorite season, I actually love them all. I love that Maryland has a good recognition of every season. Spring, obviously, is about three days long, but it’s still nice. Nice before it turns 100 degrees outside and we all dehydrate while walking to our cars. But certainly summer has its charm as well. That warm air at night wrapping you up like your favorite blanket. Trips down to the Baltimore Harbor are very fond memories from my childhood.
Winter can be bitter. It can be cold and a large snowfall will ruin social plans, but there’s something beautiful about the dead trees and vegetation. It’s a sobering reminder of what’s inevitable.
Our mortal bodies are also subject to the withering and degradation experienced by the majestic trees that tower over us.
My family experienced a change in seasons, so to speak. My sweet grandmother passed away early this past Thursday morning. Esther Rivera was 86 years old and full of spirit until her last breath. We knew, per the doctors’ briefing, once she was taken off the ventilator, she would not last very long breathing on her own. While he was correct, it didn’t paint the picture of what actually happened.
Surely, it was less than 24 hours before she passed, but when the breathing tube was removed, she sprung awake. Awake and more alert without the nuisance of a breathing tube. After gaining her composure, she asked two questions… “Where are my clothes? When can I go home?”
I am blessed to have had a relationship with the woman who had endured so much in order for me to even be here today. Emigrating from her native Puerto Rico to a foreign land with a foreign language in the 1960s wasn’t easy. Raising children in the midst of an impoverished area with impoverished resources certainly developed the kind of character that can only be developed through exposure to dire circumstances. But I am here because of that resilience. I am strong because that strong will is innately within me.
Before I left the hospital on Wednesday, I stood at her bedside and held her hand until my feet hurt. I kissed her hand and her forehead countless times and told her I loved her. My seven year old daughter Lily also said goodbye. What a sight to see! My abuela, my mother, and my daughter in the same room sharing the last moment they’d experience with the three of them together on this side of heaven. Pride, beauty, grace, and resilience were all on full display. I will never forget this moment.
The moment also signified the change of seasons. As my abuela’s season was coming to an end, my daughter’s is merely just beginning. My prayer is that my daughter would embody the same spirit and resilience as her bisabuela. If she gets a little of that, she’s gonna be quite alright. And just like watching Yankee playoff baseball, I get a front seat to see it all unfold.
Thank you, Abuela.
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