It’s fall here in the hills of West Virginia. I suppose it’s fall every where, but the autumn months here in appalachia are especially beautiful. The treetops are a mix of greens, oranges, reds, and browns. Every time I look out my door I see hillsides bathed in color and it makes me smile. The crisp mornings, the fiery leaves, the beep of the school bus on the road, the many festivals, and the coziness of a light sweater all remind me that I am home and I am grateful every day.

Summer

The summer flew by in a rush of activity for me. I’ve spent time with family and friends. We went to the state fair in August, my first time. Carnival rides with Sophie, fishing at the camp, and visiting towns in my home state that I’d never been to rounded out a wonderful weekend. I’ve been able to take my daughter to lunch or dinner at a moment’s notice. My grandson and I have become friends, playing and laughing until we can’t breathe. Reconnecting with old friends has been another blessing this summer; we share old memories and have made a few new ones. I’ve also met someone I enjoy spending time with and talking with, an unexpected surprise these past few months.

Still Here

With every experience, my mother is in the back of my thoughts. She is always there with me whatever I do. I always think how she would have enjoyed something I’m doing, and I always lean into her words when I need advice or have something weighing on my mind. I am still going through her things, mostly in bursts of activity. I may not touch a box for weeks, and then I’ll sit and sift through things for hours one night when I start to miss her. It’s a bittersweet process; looking at photos and scribbled notes draws her near, but after a little while it becomes too heavy and I have to walk away again until I have more energy for the emotions. Eventually I’ll have everything sorted and put away. Sometimes I think that maybe I am hesitant because it almost feels like erasing her from this place. As long as I am surrounded by her things, it’s almost like she’s home and may walk through the door at any moment. My heart hangs on to that thought, by my head knows better. At those times, I rely on her words most of all.

Keeping Up Tradition

Babcia told me once that my memories don’t live the walls, but that I carry them with me where ever I go. I know this applies to her things here in this house as well. I catch myself using her phrases and passing her advice down to my daughter and to my niece when it applies to a situation. My daughter is expecting another little one in April and I know for sure that my mama knows and is thrilled. Her world revolved around the children in the family, always. I find myself sending money to certain causes that she donated to when a request arrives in the mail under her name… something I quite honestly wouldn’t do normally, but I feel like she’d want me to and it was important to her, so I do. I worry less about keeping everything perfectly neat and clean, and more about whether Brodee has his favorite snacks and toys here when he comes to visit. If we make a mess, so be it. Babcia would have reveled in the destruction and in his delight of having every toy spread throughout the house. She would have fed him until he fell into a food coma and then made sure he slept soundly under a blanket in her arms, refusing to move until he stirred. I must admit I’ve done that a time or two myself.

As the holidays approach, I know we’ll miss her greatly. I also know that she will be here with us as she always has. We all carry her in us in our own way. Her lessons guide us. Her love surrounds us. We have each other, and I know that makes her very happy. Everything I need is right here where she left it. Thanks mom.