apple picking in the adirondacks

When I step outside and I feel the chill of autumn along with the crisp smell of fallen leaves I feel at peace. Over the weekend I found myself saying, "I don't remember it being this beautiful last year," and then I am reminded that we were not here last year. We were held up in the cold, stale corner of the PICU that was Bed 7 or Bed G depending on the age of the nurse. It was beautiful, that Bed 7, but the smell was anything but crisp.

Parker has been thinking a lot about last fall, too. He has been processing and retelling of things that happened while we were away. With every pumpkin, candle, and holiday decoration, he has a story - a moment to share. So we stop and we listen and we hold him for a bit while his eyes glaze over with the feelings of absence. I am sure that he missed us last year. Although he never spoke a word of it, I am sure he missed us, and worried, and wondered. And this year, he is missing his grandparents, his aunts and uncles. And all the dogs that everyone has. He seems sad. And in those moments all I want to do is bring him back home to Montana.

A three year old should not have to bear such heavy longings. And I can't help but wonder how this will shape him. Will autumn always hold these feelings for him? Will he wonder when he is older what it is about fall that makes him melancholy? Will he distance himself from loving so deeply because he doesn't want to have to miss? Parker is the oldest soul that I know. He is thoughtful, sensitive, wise. And right now all he wants to do is rake leaves with his grandpa, play kitchen with his honey, drink hot chocolate with his auntie, play trucks with his uncle, laugh with his cousins, and eat out with his caleigh. But right now, we are apple picking in the Adirondacks.

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