I think that it's supposed to be fall but I hear lots of crickets outside our bedroom window. The mornings are getting colder though and so are the evenings. I want to like this season, an excuse for outdoor fires and Sunday football for Ian and leggings with thick sweaters and moccasins.
But I just can't do it. Because fall is when Ian's car slid under an suv and is when Steve died. Sunday marks six years since Ian's accident and eight days after that will be three years since we've seen Steve.
And so autumn, you are beautiful but you hold in you so much sadness. Too many leaf-strewn drives to the ICU. For that, I'll be ok when you've passed.