Finding Fall: A Mother’s Reflections on Grief and Faith

It may be October on the calendar, but here in Nashville, it certainly doesn't feel like fall.

For reference, I grew up in northern Illinois and now live in the Nashville area. October, to me, has always meant kiddos jumping into piles of leaves, comfortable sunny days, and cool, crisp nights. 

But that’s just not the case in Nashville this year. 

There’s something about fall that feels like home. I don’t know quite how to explain it. Homecoming festivities. Cozy bonfires. Family days spent outdoors, ending with full tummies, tired bodies, and everyone snuggled together on the couch watching a movie after hours of leaf jumping and fresh air. 

And for me, fall represents so much more. 

A season of memories

In our family, October marked our last full month with our daughter, Sydney. 

So many of our lasts happened in those weeks before she died on November 7, 2009. It’s been nearly 17 years, and yet sometimes, it feels like yesterday. 

There’s something about this time of year that beckons me north. An internal compass pointing me back to the place where her earthly life ended and her heavenly one began. 

So, this weekend, I headed north in search of fall. 

I didn’t make it all the way to my hometown in Illinois, but a 3-hour drive to eastern Kentucky seemed to do the trick. At least when it came to finding fall. 

And as I walk along streets she’s never walked, searching for connections to her in the changing colors of the leaves and the beauty of nature itself, my mind begins to wander. 

God gave her to me, you know. 

And when He did, He knew. 

He gave her to me knowing I’d only have her for 11 years… and that I’d have to go on living without her. 

So far, I’ve lived almost 17 years without her. 

God gave her to me knowing all of that. 

And sometimes, if I’m being completely honest, that’s really hard for me to reconcile. It’s hard for me to understand. 

Learning to trust what I cannot understand

My instinct is to rely on my own understanding. I can think of a million reasons why Sydney should still be here with me. I can analyze the circumstances and build a pretty strong case to defend my conclusions. 

But in my faith, there’s a passage of Scripture that says: 

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not rely on your own understanding; in all your ways know him, and he will make your paths straight.” — Proverbs 3:5–6 (CSB) 

Sydney loved this scripture. In fact, throughout her brain cancer journey, she often sang a song written around this very passage. 

It reminds me that trusting in the Lord means refusing to depend solely on my own human understanding. It doesn’t mean abandoning rational thought, but rather acknowledging that my perspective is inherently limited. 

My ways and God’s ways often differ. 

And I can assure you, MY way would never have included my child leaving this earth before I do. 

But near the end of Sydney’s life, 17 fall seasons ago, she seemed to understand something I was still struggling to grasp. 

With those bright blue eyes and her devastatingly beautiful smile, she talked to me about heaven and how ready she was to go there. 

It seemed God’s ways had become her own. 

Sometimes, I think her spirit had grown so large that her little body could no longer contain it. 

And so, God set her spirit free. 

Gratitude in grief

Today, as I sit overlooking the breathtaking colors of the Appalachian Mountains, I find myself wondering why God entrusted me with her for such a short time. 

There was a time when I viewed her death as punishment. When I struggled to understand why I was given something so beautiful, only to experience the heartbreak of losing her. 

But somewhere along the way, my perspective began to change. 

Today, I see those 11 years as an unimaginably beautiful blessing. What an extraordinary privilege it was to be entrusted with parenting a little girl whose life was so full of love, faith, and purpose. 

He gave her to me, knowing I’d only have her for 11 years. 

And those 11 years would change me for all eternity. 

That doesn’t mean I understand it all now. I don’t. And I suspect there will always be moments when my heart wrestles with what my faith knows to be true. 

But I am learning that I don’t have to understand everything to trust the One who does. 

Finding Sydney in every season

In the meantime, I’ll continue searching for every little connection I can find with my girl. 

Later today, I think I’ll enjoy a chai latte, take a walk among the trees, and settle in with a good book. 

And I have a feeling that just when I think I’ve finally found fall… 

A little piece of Sydney will find me. 

Season 3 of Caregivers SHARE, a St. Jude Podcast, features Tasha and Dean Ives. Listen to the podcast episode below.