When the air turns crisp, and the mornings are chilly, when every scent seems deliciously heightened by the cool breeze and the leaves change color, I can feel my spirit wilt. I grow tired; my thoughts seem blurry, foggy almost. I go slower. Tasks take me longer, and emotions rise to the edge. I get frustrated with myself, "Why am I like this?! Why can't I do anything right, right now?!" Then the answer comes to me.

It comes slowly, usually by pieces, which I ignore until I choose to finally pay attention to them and piece them all together. It came in the multitude of monarchs I saw one day, one fluttering in front of my windshield at a stoplight, another landing above me on a tree branch causing a little boy to squeal with delight as he pointed it out to his parents.

It came in the hair appointment of the person in front of me, "Yes, you are scheduled for November 1st, at 12:00 p.m." It came at the music festival, bustling with people as we walked around and in which I heard, "Emily don't run away, come back here" and "Emily can you come back and help me carry these drinks" and "Emily wait--" all from different persons, all different Emily's, and ironically, all Emily's which I never saw.

I can never quite figure out the timing, does this season just bring with it the odd timing of name dropping like that or perhaps, a more realistic answer, is that, in the back of my mind, I know what this season brings, what memories it holds. And my brain is heightened to such moments, signs and symbols that remind me of everything that took place three years ago: the diagnosis, the doctor visits, and then death.

Amazing how it always creeps up on me. I should be accustomed to it all by now, but I have such a love for autumn, that was passed down to me by my mom, that my excitement for the season and for the holidays to come, blinds me to the pain that slowly bubbles up inside. And I begin to plan. Because when you so often are reminded of the approaching date with questions like, "What are you doing for Halloween" and "What's your costume going to be" you cannot ignore it and pretend everything is fine.

While my others are busy planning costumes and parties and choosing which haunted houses to go to or what snacks to bring or make, I am feverishly trying to plan a night where I won't feel so isolated, where I might just be as distracted as I can be. It is both a blessing and a curse for Halloween to mask the anxiety I feel for the next day: everyone is out and about feeling crazy and strange, so I am not alone in some way, yet I am the very day that it counts.

All Saints Day, what a fitting death date, but the dates don't end there, it is just the beginning. She was a Thanksgiving baby, and her favorite holiday was Christmas, and besides that, all three of our birthdays, mom's mine, and dad's are in those months: November, December, January. We get to face the most difficult days in one compact time, and though it makes it easier to face the rest of the year, it makes us all not ourselves for those three months.

So forgive me if, as the leaves fall and the air turns bitter, I become more reclusive, have mood swings, suddenly resolve to not caring or having much to say. I might not smile as brightly or put as much effort into much of anything. Believe me, I don't like it most of all. I just can't escape it.

But I enjoy losing myself in the world around me, in the change of seasons. I go on walks, and I let myself think, as I see the beauty around me. I relish in the making of plans with friends, of costumes and candy, of the escaping sounds of Christmas music, and my wonderful family sitting around the table at Thanksgiving. I take it all in, piece by piece, and hang onto the beauty of life, amidst the pain. Because, after all, Emilee was the one with the artist's eye who taught me to do this the best.