The Final Act

The essence of life is death and renewal. We may not notice this within our own lives, because our life cycles are so long, nonetheless, the cycles are there. My mother lived to ripe old age, she was 87 when she died, and by that point, her kids were all grown and settled. Her grandkids were also almost grown too, with the oldest being 24 years old. At family gatherings, my mother’s place had moved from the center (being part of a team of sisters who cooked the Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners) to the sidelines, when she was happy to watch the younger women cook, while she sipped a glass of Rosé.

Now the grandkids (my son, and his cousins) are moving past youth to full adulthood, so it will soon be time for our generation to sit on the sidelines.

The cycles in the garden are much more obvious. We are at the end of this year’s growth cycle, with the remaining leaves dry and falling, and the once bright summer flowers flattened.

The death cycle should not be completely gloomy – in a long life, like with my late mother, the story of her death was mostly that of a life well lived. The garden’s cycle is even more tinged with hope. The fall presents fleeting glimmers of dazzle, at least up north, as our various leaves change to bright golden yellows and brilliant reds. The brilliance last for only a few days or weeks at the most, and then it’s over.