I drove into the parking lot of my office this morning, feeling just about as desolate and alone as the two autumn stained trees before me. These earthy golden red trees would soon shed their garments and reluctantly succumb to the browns and grays of November. There was no turning back now, for winter was pounding on the door and promising to smother us in white.
I looked down at my sneaker clad feet and grieved for my flowery sandals, packed away in a red Christmas tote that rested upstairs on the linoleum floor of one of our guest rooms. There were no bluebirds or puffy, happy clouds swirling about my head on this day; not a one.
I leaned my head back on my car seat and closed my eyes. Time was flying by and I was not ready to cross that threshold into the autumn of my life. The Spring and Summer of my life were slipping away and I did not want to trade the vivid colors of my youth for the eventual drabness of late fall. And then, of course, there was the winter of my life following right behind; pale, frosty, and riddled with storms.
I was just about to leave the confines of my car when my cell phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number on the screen, but I knew from the first three numbers that the call was from someone in Augusta. It was a former coworker; someone who I cherished a great deal. He sounded strong and happy and I smiled throughout the conversation, clinging to his every word.
“I am rather fond of being retired,” he announced. “I am keeping busy, though. Visiting my kids, traveling, and working with hospice patients. There is nothing more rewarding than that.”
“Nothing more rewarding than hospice?” I asked.
“That’s right,” he said.
I was surprised to hear the news about his work with hospice, even though he was a sweet spirited, loving, and empathetic man. “I don’t think I could do that,” I said. “Don’t you find it terribly taxing? Upsetting? And how do you let go?”
“Well,” he said, “I don’t really let go. I wish the person peace and tranquility, reminding them that there are more adventures ahead and now it is time to pass into another realm. It is what I say and what I believe.”
We talked for a while longer, and as always, I thanked God for him and his friendship. I am forever amazed with his optimism. He had been an administrator, a supervisor, and my mentor for many years. I miss him.
I got out of the car, my work bag in my hand, and walked up to one of those shimmering trees. The color of those falling leaves could never be created on a painter’s palette; it was divine – from the master artist Himself.
I reached down and picked up a recently fallen leaf; velvety smooth and moist in my hand. In time, it would become brittle and faded, burrowing its way back into the earth from which it came. Soon, the tree would say farewell to autumn and its branches would surrender to the silvery sheen of winter. Today, however, it was brilliant, vivacious, supple, and very much alive.
Belinda Wilcox Ouellette lives in Connor with her husband, Dale, and their Goldendoodle, Barney Rubble. You may contact Belinda online at dbwouellette@maine.rr.com.
