Why falling leaves make me sad

I thought it was because WINTER IS COMING, but turns out it's deeper than that

Oh, boy. It’s 10:57am on Moon Pollen day, and I’m just now starting to write to you. Ready or not, it’s time to slap some words onto this screen, because my self-assigned, bi-weekly Wednesday deadline is now upon me.

This is probably very hard to believe, but I haven’t been able to find any words for this one. I mean, I’ve had plenty of ideas, yet no energy to sit down and type ‘em out.

I thought I was just suffering from a good ‘ol case of writer’s block or still recovering from hosting Moms on the Mic. (Which was amaaazing!)

But this morning, while feeling the usual anticipatory grief I feel when I see leaves fall to the ground, I was struck with a barrage of reasons why everything’s felt a little…stuck.

Turns out that some of my biggest life changes and greatest losses have happened at this time of year.

In fact, all of them occurred in the second half of this month.

• Eleven years ago this time, we lost my sweet, sweet grandma — just a few months before my wedding.

• Nine years ago, David and I were preparing to move to Germany for two years. I was incredibly excited, but my marketing business was really starting to bloom, so it was tough to let go of projects and communities that I had poured my heart into.

• Seven years ago this time, we were preparing to come back to the States. Again, I’d never felt so much excitement and sadness in my life. That was a Transition with a capital T, I tell ya. Took me about a year to feel like I knew who I was again and for home to feel like “home” again.

• Three years ago, David and I were navigating all the newness of parenthood and the loss and trauma that inevitably comes with adoption…in a hotel room…with a toddler…in a different country…during a pandemic…in the winter…and then some. (The incredibly joyful moments and comically challenging things from that first week alone could fill a book, but I think I’m still processing it all.)

• One year ago, we lost my mom-in-love, our next door neighbor, my teacher of faith, fellow bird whisperer, and more.

And here’s the thing:

During all those times of immense change, uncertainty, or loss, something familiar was happening to my senses.

The air was changing. Warm days and winged things were slipping away. And (Gasp!) the leaves were letting go.

So, now, it’s no wonder that when this annual change commences, I start to feel a painfully confusing mix of magic, sadness, possibility, and grief.

Why exactly does this happen?

Megan MacCutcheon, LPC, explains it well in her article on anniversary reactions:

“We all know memories are stored in the brain, but what many people are not familiar with is the idea that our bodies also store memories at a cellular level. We experience the world through all of our senses—sight, smell, sound, touch, and taste—and all aspects of our experiences get imprinted into our cellular memory.”

So, this is why certain sensory inputs can suddenly spark a memory.

• It’s why the smell of geraniums immediately takes me back to summertime in my childhood backyard.

• It’s why the song “Red, Red Wine” puts me right back at the spaghetti dinner dancing with David Dendinger in fourth grade. Man, speaking of senses, he wore a lot of cologne.

• It’s also why peanut butter cookies with a chocolate kiss in the middle remind me of my grandma and all the cookie-making days* we had with the fam, and how that was one of the last things we reminisced about.

You see, our bodies remember things.

*Speaking of anniversaries, not long after I wrote about the baking days, my Facebook memories showed me, well, a baking day:

Am I the only one who gets full-circle goosebumps every time I check my Memories?

There’s almost always a clear connection to something in my current life, like, oh, you know, THIS POST ABOUT LEAVES from two years ago today.

Like, what?!

Gosh. I had this whole plan to end this with some metaphorical, uplifting perspective involving…wait for it…LEAVES! But my brain is starting to melt out of my ears.

So, I’ll leave you with something that comforted me after googling what I was originally going to title ‘n’ angle this: “If Leaves Could Talk.” (I thought I’d be the first person to ever title a blog with that. I was wrong. Way wrong. Who knew?) Anywhooo, get a load of how Leslie saw fallen leaves in this blog:

Life is different now, and their path is determined by the wind these days, not by the security of the tree branch they so tightly held onto before the change. They must trust not in their own strength to hold on now, but in the wind's strength to carry them through to where it would have them go. Their mourning has turned to joyful dancing and they are clothed with joy!

Change is inevitable in life. Trust the process and find joy in your journey!

OK. SO.

Did you resonate with any of this? Do you have your own anniversary reactions? Does fall make you feel all the things, too? Did any sensory memories pop up for you?

I’d love to know.

Until next time,