As the colors of the leaves change, so do the lives of the people around me.
The fall brings a different dynamic to the world. Nature turns into a variety of hues. The wind welcomes our bodies with a crisp hello. The sun tucks itself into bed earlier, and the nighttime joins us. We're greeted by a variety of pumpkin flavored foods and drinks. The layers begin to form in our closets. The flannels are brought out of hibernation, and the socks get chunkier. Along with the sweaters and the jewelry. Fall is here. Hello, Autumn.
Aside from the clothing, we can detect the full fall anthem by the amount of love gained or lost. As of late, I've witnessed many a couples "fall"ing out of love. Perhaps it's due to the Holiday season nearing, or the idea of hibernating with someone for an entire winter could send chills down the wrong lovers' spine. I honestly don't know. Maybe the cooler temps allow couples time to reflect, thus, realizing maybe the time has come to close on their relationship. I have no answers, just observations.
...
The fall has always been my favorite time of the year. Even if I am a winter baby, I love the fall. Autumn, if you will. Everything becomes so photogenic in the foliage of fall. People roam to pumpkin patches and haunted houses. Coffee shops become home (if they're not already) and everyone is in the mood for a hot drink. Something to warm our bones, to ease our spirit and help pick us up from the shorter days. Fall is perfection.
But with fall, also brings the month of November. My least favorite month of the year.
On a cold November night in 2010, tragedy struck my family. My grandmother, whom had been sick on and off for a few decades, passed. I have a hard time still thinking about this. It was November 4th. It was late at night, and I remember my mother answering the phone. I remember rushing to her side as she sobbed. Stunned and confused. We cried. Shirley was and will always be remembered as one of the most inspirational people I've ever met. To be her granddaughter was such a blessing. An honor. Born in the early '40s, Shirley Belew Helton grew up an average girl. She went to school, and was raised in the home in which she lived out the rest of her life. She went to beauty school with her friends on a whim and became one of the best beauticians in the city of Corbin, Ky. She had three beautiful children and married one earnest businessman. A country boy at heart, and businessman by trade. Shirley and Clifton lived an average life. Full of love and family and their fair amount of hardships as well as happiness. Shirley loved everyone. She passed no judgement, for we are all God's children. She went to church every Sunday, sang in the choir and wore a blazer every other day. She didn't leave the house without the perfect shade of lipstick and made sure to always coordinate her handbag to her outfit. I learned a lot from this woman. She taught me the words to Amazing Grace at a very young age, and encouraged me to follow my creative instincts. We used to play her keyboard, in which she'd teach me hymns and Christmas carols. Her soul was pure. Even when she lost her eyesight, she never complained. For she was alive and well, and was able to sing and feel the love around her. Words cannot describe the admiration I have for this woman. I remember in her last weeks, my mother visited her in the hospital nearly everyday, making the trek from Cincinnati to Lexington. Sometimes I would join, but me being a selfish 18-year-old in my first semester of college, I made excuses of being too busy or having too much homework. Those are moments that I regret. Not having the opportunity to tell her goodbye, not being there for her, not reading to her, not singing with her, not telling her about college. I still regret it. But long before her passing, she'd made me promise that I'd sing Amazing Grace at her funeral. And so I did. I kept my promise. I remember looking out into the pews filled with familiar faces and strangers alike, I sobbed, not necessarily because I was sad. I was, obviously. But for being so blessed to be a part of this amazing woman's life. I remember thinking that if I touched half as many lives as she did, I'd be one lucky woman myself.
And so, I digress. The 4th anniversary of Maw's passing happened this week. Each year, it doesn't get easier, it just becomes a day in which we celebrate her. I usually wear a scarf that she passed down to me. And I remember that the reason I began wearing my signature red lip stain was in remembrance of her. A way I can remember her each and everyday.
There are numerous other reasons why I hate November.
On another cold night in November, the 30th to be exact in 2011, we lost a close family friend. Chad (my brother)'s very best friend. He and Chad were the same age, sharing the same birthday. Andy King was a charismatic, passionate, crazy and kind guy. He'd been very ill in his last years of life. I remember the first time I met him. A young, naive Chanell, wanting her older brothers to bring home their cute guy friends. Andy was dressed in head to toe camouflage, like he normally did, topped with a bright orange beanie. I remember saying "He's butt ugly, why can't Chad have cute friends?" I would soon learn to love Andy. Not in a romantic way, but in a brother-sister way. He was Chad's best friend, each other's wing men, partners in crime. They would most normally be found at the drag strip or the local WalMart parking lot, but probably behind a camera, creating their film series "Stupid Human Tricks." No adventure was too big, they would venture to foreign towns to trade cars off of Craigslist, they'd be found cross dressing to make a scene or hunting somewhere in the woods of Campbell County. There was never a dull moment with Andy and Chad. Even when Andy had to walk around with a colostomy bag, using a walker to get to his jacked-up diesel truck, he was still a hoot. I remember distinctly a time when he was belting out Big & Rich's Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy, shuffling to his truck with his walker, "I'm a thoroughbred, that's what she said..." He was like my idol. Seeing him so weak, but being so strong, he was amazing. The funeral came, and I remember by brother and his friends just in a different state than normal. They weren't necessarily emotional. They seemed confused and restraining themselves from tears. Being strong. But I knew the truth, they all were missing him. Andy is unforgettable and irreplaceable.
And just as we thought we'd had enough of November. Bad things happen in threes, I suppose.
Tragedy struck again. Another damn cold night. November 18, 2012. Exactly two years and two weeks after my grandma's passing, my grandpa passed. Cliff, or "Big Daddy" as everyone called him was one of the scariest people I knew growing up. He was a true Corbin man. Owning a country store out in the "hollers" of Barbourville, Ky. He smoked a lot of cigarettes, drank moonshine and carried a gun in his briefcase for safety. He believed in structure and tradition. He didn't fool with technology and wanted to make sure that us grand kids were getting a proper education. As he grew older, he grew softer. He became more lenient. Allowing us to have cellphones out. We could stay up past 9 p.m., and he wasn't as set on having his certain chair at the table. He allowed us to have visitors over and actually enjoyed talking to people. Big Daddy was amazing. As I grew older, I learned to appreciate his old-fashioned ways. He lost his leg, wheeled himself in a wheelchair, but still managed to get up and go to work everyday. Even in his last few moments of life. He had been in almost nearly perfect health. He was found with his glasses still on his face, with the UK game on the television. At his funeral, I once again sang Amazing Grace. He enjoyed my singing and it reminded him of Shirley. My mother would never be the same after her mother passed, but then losing her father, she was at a loss. And she still is.
So, as the seasons change. As November begins, I cringe. For although I love the fall. It can be a bit harsh. Both in low temperatures, as well as in taking the lives of those close to me... I can only hope that this November is better.
And I digress yet again. For it's more important to maintain a state of positivity. A lush hope. Here's to a better November. Or maybe Green Day should have titled the song "Wake Me Up When November Ends."
