Happens Every Year

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Well, it's September once again ladies and gentlemen. Now it begins. The mad dash for the end of the year. First comes Labor Day, then the Jewish High Holy days, followed by the first day of Autumn, then comes October. November and December always fly away before we even get a chance to enjoy them. The next four months will zip by and before we know it we'll be into 2027. Then the whole thing starts again.

The time will go by faster for me this year, since I'm having cataract surgery done just before Rosh Hashanah starts. Next week, to be exact, two days before the holiday. It will be one thing right after another. Autumn was my wife's favorite time of the year. Mine too. Jane made a wonderful Rosh Hashanah dinner. Her brisket was the best. Her chicken soup and knaidel were like no other. Before we began our fast on Yom Kippur we fortified ourselves with that delicious soup of hers.

We broke our fast with lox, eggs, and onions, boiled potatoes, cheeses, olives, challah and butter, and plenty of coffee to wash it down. No meal ever tasted better. I helped a bit, like making the coffee, but she really did it all. It marked the beginning of fall and hopefully a sweet new year. It was a warm, cozy time that we loved.

The weather in southern California doesn't really cool down too much until we get closer to Thanksgiving (if we're lucky) but still we know it's on the way. Leaves on many trees change color, evening comes earlier, and October 13th was Jane's birthday. Now that my Jane has died, autumn is not the same. I still love this time of year, but the joy is mingled with sadness, tears, loneliness, and memories of the past.

As I did last year, I will be having my family over for a Rosh Hashanah dinner, but I have come to grips with the fact I will once again be alone on Yom Kippur. And October 13th will mark Jane's second birthday without her here to celebrate. I will be alone on that day too, but I will be celebrating her in my heart.

Part of what we both looked forward to in autumn and winter was having a crackling, cozy fire in the den. I would have wood delivered and stacked on a rack in the backyard which would last us throughout the season, and sometimes into the next season. I'd make a fire every single evening if it was cold enough. We would have cocktails and watch a classic movie in front of our fireplace (before she lost her eyesight and had her heart problems, of course). It was our own small, quiet pleasure. I don't have wood delivered anymore; I don't see the point of sitting in front of a cozy fire all alone without Jane.

Believe it or not, I didn't start off with the intention of writing this column about the sadness and grief I have in the death of my wife. My idea was only to ponder the yearly comings and goings of autumn and how fast the end of the year always seems to go by. Regular readers of my column know that I've written about my loss several times since Jane has been gone.

But this week, as I began to write about autumn, the emotions of it all overwhelmed me. Before I knew it, the column seemed to take on its own direction, apart from what I meant to write. Autumn and Jane just seem to go together, and I simply couldn't write about one without the other.

If you were taken by surprise at the direction of this column, I assure you, so was I. I apologize for leading you unwillingly down the path of my personal burden. I sincerely wish you all a happy, healthy, and sweet Rosh Hashanah and an inspirational Yom Kippur.

Enjoy the holidays with your loved ones and cherish it.

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