I have always loved autumn — the fall colors, the crisp air, Halloween and Thanksgiving. It’s also a time of great reflection for me, as I tend to get more introspective and a bit depressed.
I can’t really explain it. I don’t believe I have Seasonal Affective Disorder; however, ever since I can remember, autumn has had an association with death for me. I know what you’re thinking: well, of course, you moron! Winter’s coming! Of course there’s death!
But wait, that’s not what I’m talking about.
I’m talking about death on a grander scale. Death death.
Okay, so now you probably think I need to spend some quality time with a padded cell. Hear me out. All of my major relationships (romantic, naturally) started in autumn. Some ended in autumn, and some ended at other times of the year. I know, padded cell time. What does the timing of my major romantic relationships have to do with any of this?
I wish I knew. I just remember my first boyfriend (and love – to the extent that a sixteen-year-old headbanger chick could be in love) and I starting to date Oct. 9. In November that following year, we split up under very horrendous circumstances. I wrote a lot of poetry during that time, and I recall writing a poem about fall making me sad because of him. We used to walk everywhere as neither of us had a car (or a driver’s license). So we ended up spending a great deal of time outside in the chilly air. Long, long walks. Making out. Halloween dances and sexy costumes (well, at least on me *winks* ). Sleepovers. Walking in the rain, not caring if we got wet….
So. Perhaps that’s where that association came from, as well as the crappy ending to it all. Let’s just say that it broke my little sixteen-year-old heart.
Life goes in cycles. You’re born and you live and then you die. You fell in love, you have the time of your life (or not), and it ends. Everything, at some future point, ends. And I think that’s why I get sad. I’m constantly reminded of the things in my life that have ended. The people who are no longer with me. Friends that drifted away. Former boyfriends. Family members who have split. The death of a dream.
I used to read Tarot cards (don’t judge me, it’s not witchcraft. Honest). Most people would freak the hell out if they got the dreaded Death card. But you see, that’s the entire thing – it’s never actual death. It’s actually the end of something to make way for something to begin, something new. (Of course, you could argue that hello, dying is an ending, is it not? Well, I promise you, it’s not.) Anyway, I had one querent (that’s Tarot-speak for the person who you’re doing the reading for) who got the Death card not once but twice (this was a very special deck, limited edition, that had 2 Death cards.) She pretty much freaked out. I kept assuring her that no, she wasn’t gonna die, and no, this wasn’t necessarily a life-altering thing, and no, I wasn’t crazy. (I think). Body, meet padded room.
Turns out there was indeed a huge ending in her future, one I myself could have never guessed (because I used to get flashes of insight from literally nowhere and they’d be totally accurate – scary, huh?) but wait, it was also indeed making way for a new, much better thing to come into her life.
It used to be our running joke. “Please, no Death cards, okay?” she’d ask me each time I did a reading.
I miss that girl. She was my cousin-in-law. But now she’s just a good memory and a name I will cherish forever.
Autumn, you make me sad. But I’m looking forward to the new.