Sweat & Sparkle

The first day of fall may not officially arrive until September 22, but for me, September 1st is the kick-off for fall decorating, fall clothes, fall everything. I spent about two hours on Sunday, pulling out boxes of pumpkins and sunflowers, winding leaf garland around the porch railing, draping the front door in maple leaves, swapping the flowery blue wreath with the autumn-worthy orange and yellow one.

My husband had gotten me a set of blue metal pumpkins that light up. I saw them in a store and admired them, but I decided I have too many decorations already and didn’t buy them. My husband went back and bought two of them. I love them and wanted them to be the focal point on our fireplace mantle, so I put those up first.

At one point, with three boxes of decorations open and everything scattered across the living room, the dining room table, and the kitchen counter, it looked like the fall section of Hobby Lobby exploded in our house. One by one, I placed each piece where I wanted it, and it slowly came together. When I was done, I stepped back to admire my work.

My husband said this year’s decorations are the best I’ve ever done. If I may so myself, I have to agree. I took a few pictures, inside and outside. Later, as I sat on the couch to go through the pictures, I suddenly had to catch my breath.

Every year, for as long as I can remember, I sent pictures of our decorations to my mom. She was always big on decorations when my brothers and I were growing up, and she liked adding to our displays, like sending me items to add to the mantle. My routine every year was decorate, take pictures, send them to Mom.

And now I can’t. I still love fall, and I still love decorating, but these past two years have not taken the sting out of not being able to share this with my mom anymore. She will never see this best year yet. The decorations will get taken down, packed away, put back up next year, the year after that, and she won’t see any of them.

I hadn’t said anything, but it must have been written all over my face. My husband was suddenly at my side, silently, his hand on my arm. I didn’t cry, like I did the first fall without her. But it didn’t hurt any less.

Fall will always be this mixed bag of emotions now. I love fall, and it’s my favorite season. My mom loved it too. She would get so excited when the days got cooler, and she could leave the windows open and enjoy the crisp day. I feel the same way, a sense of happy anticipation, not even sure for what exactly, that accompanies that first chilly breeze. Her dying right before she got to enjoy one more first cool breeze seems so unfair to me and will always bother me.

It was pushing 100 degrees this past weekend when I decorated our home for fall, but later this week, our temperatures will finally take a dip. Fall in the south just isn’t the same, but I adore it anyway.

Fall makes me miss my mom even more, like I am enjoying something that she should be sharing with me but is missing. She should be here. She should be calling me to tell me how delightful the day felt today at her house. She should be here so I can send these pictures to her, and so she can tell me how much she likes them, so she can make suggestions and maybe send a little package in the mail later, something for me to add to the collection, something from her.

I love fall, with all my heart, but it also leaves me aching. She should be here.