As I walk our dog in the park, the ground is covered with the colored leaves of Autumn.  As his little feet toddle along our path, the rustling sound of the leaves pulls me back to a time when Zane was just three.

We would walk down to the neighbourhood park while we waited for dinner to cook. Together, we would make big piles of fallen leaves and then jump into them, lying on our backs and laughing.  We would look up at the skies and take turns pointing at clouds and naming what they looked like. 

I can still remember the crunch of the dried leaves underneath us.  The musty smell of the ground tickled our noses.  The sound of Zane’s young giggle as he jumped back up to say;

“Mimi, let’s do one mo time.”

I can remember the deep joy, the love of those afternoons together. He was my little buddy; it was the two of us. The memory of those fall afternoons live with vivid detail forever in my heart.

This particular memory hit me hard this season.  I am not sure why.  I have walked through the leaves many times before.  But this time, something about that memory filled my heart with the cold ache of missing the past.

Grief has no pattern of what memory may bring comfort and what memory may bring you to your knees.  Memories often come in random fashion and the day, the mood, the level of grief has the memory leaving you smiling or crying or both.  It is called ‘riding the wave of grief’. Sometimes it is a gentle whisper. Sometimes it is a hurricane, crashing in and leaving you to gasp for breath.  There is no play book of which memory will come in as a whisper and which will come in as a storm.  There is no set schedule. We must be ready for either. 

I hope that your memories fall gently this season.