Only love can break your heart

There is a saying: “The depth of your love today is the depth of your wound tomorrow.” I feel this, deeply. In fact, I think it would be fair to say that I feel emotions deeper than most people. The great benefit of this is that I am very passionate about life and I tend to have amazing highs and a lot of fun. The flip side to those highs being very high, is that the lows can be very low.

For example, I love the fall colours so very much, and am so very sad when they are gone. I am awed by the bright yellows, and am particular taken by the almost neon oranges and deep reds contrasted against a blue sky and dark green conifers. There is no better time of year for mountain biking and hiking, as there are no bugs, the temperature is perfect, and it is visually stunning.

Staying with this season, I also absolutely adore pumpkin pie (especially my homemade recipe), and I crave it as soon as the calendar hits Oct. 1. That said, the empty pie plate leaves everything in me, except my stomach, feeling empty.

I appreciate the pies’ and the leaves’ short glory and, with that, another saying comes to mind about how the trees are showing us at this time of year how beautiful it can be to let things go … but I don’t want to let go. I want to hold onto the amazing rich colours and the good times. I want to hold on to comfortable sweater weather, without having to completely bundle up. I don’t want to give up on walks without bug spray, nor the necessity for any kind of boots (rain or snow). You can keep your pumpkin-spiced everything, but I don’t want to lose the opportunity to have pumpkin pie for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, if I so choose.

I’m here, breathing in, trying to be present, and enjoy the season for what it is, but there is an anxious part of me that knows that soon the trees will be naked, raw, and unprotected. The pie plate will be empty. I worry I am already starting to feel the same. Sure, each season has its benefits, but winter’s great death chills me to the core.

I’m trying to focus on the now, the positive of the leaves, and their beauty, but then a vision of me shovelling snow off the steps creeps in, and I can feel a sickening wave of panic rising up in my body. I breathe deeply and think about the cyclical nature of the seasons. When the leaves are gone, snow will come and go, mud and buds will come and go, and also the sun and green will also come and go. Then in the not so distant future … OK basically a year from now, I’ll again be awed at the kaleidoscope of fall foliage.

I suppose I have a hard time with the impermanence of it all. Would I be better off if I loved less deeply, so the pain of loss wouldn’t sting so fiercely? Isn’t it a shame that sometimes, including with the seasons, that we can’t keep the ones we love the most for longer?

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