Reign of Fall

As we glided through the ombré forest, my eight-year-old daughter, Kaley, stopped to pick up a dingy, brownish colored leaf, drenched in water. When I told her she could choose something to bring home, I expected a pine cone or even a squirrel, but no she decided that this leaf would be her souvenir. I asked her why she wanted such a dirty, useless artifact.

She replied, "I saw it before when it was hanging from the tree. It was so beautiful just like you, momma."

"But why not take a leaf that is still hanging on the tree, one that is not all wet."

"I love this one because even though it changed and got a little wet, that doesn't make it any less beautiful than one that is still attached to the big oak. Plus, I wanted to have something that reminds me of you in case you are not here with me anymore," Kaley said pointing to the scarf on my head.

At that moment, I had a sudden tinge of love, pain and fear all rolled in one. How could a child so young comprehend and be stronger than what I am, or even my husband?

Walking to the car, while leaves fall around us, my daughter picked up a second leaf, turned to me and said, "here is a speckled leaf for you so that if you are in heaven you can remember me as your freckled, baby girl." I had to try my hardest not to burst into tears right then and there. I knew my time was coming, but I didn't want my family to dwell on that fact.

"Honey, if one day I am gone, you can always come back here to this little forest and know that I will always be with you. In fact, I will make sure to be around when the leaves start to change, fall and dampen, just like the one you have chosen."

Hand in hand, we approached the car, which turned out to be the last mother-daughter time I spent with my little angel. I hope she knows now that I am always watching over her and waiting to see if she shows up in the little forest we walked through so many years before.