September 2005

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So fall is here. The weather hasn't figured it out yet; we're still having summer for the most part. And yet the signs are all around. The Carolina students are back in classes and have been since before the month started. The college football season is well underway. And people who love fall are happy.

Me, not so much. For the record, I do not have a mood problem with the lessening daylight. I do have problems with the lessening daylight, but those are related to not-so-hot depth perception that makes driving at night a challenge. Also, this year I'll have to adjust my shopping schedule to make sure I'm home before dark, not so much because I'm afraid of other people as I'm afraid I'll trip on the rocks and tree roots on the unlighted path I take.

No, the reason I hate fall is that the season itself represents death to me. Of those people significant to me who have died, a disproportionate number have died in the fall. This first started being true when my father died a week before my fourth birthday. And has continued.

And every year, as the trees start to lose their leaves, I am reminded of death. I know it's part of the cycle of life, but I hate it. I hate the reminders, I hate the death, I hate seeing those trees become barren.

Fall is often the time when I struggle most with my depression. That wasn't true this past fall, but it has happened enough years that I keep a close eye on myself during those months. I'm hoping this year will be a rerun of last, in that respect.

If you are one who enjoys seeing the leaves change color, and the crispness in the air, I'm glad for you. I do understand your pleasure. I just don't happen to share it.