Autumn, Through a Mother’s Eyes

 



Special Issue • September 2025: Letters in Autumn (Part 1 of 4)

Dear Autumn,

Whenever you arrive with your soft breeze and golden skies, I feel a sense of calm. You remind me that life moves in seasons, that nothing stays the same forever. And maybe that is why I feel so close to you now, because my life as a mother feels like it has shifted into its own autumn.

I still remember the early years, when my children were small and everything felt like spring, new, fragile, and blooming all at once. Those mornings are noisy and full of life, like the first buds pushing through the soil. I remember the mess, shoes by the floor, toys scattered on the floor, lunchboxes that I tried to fill with love even when I was too tired to stand. I waited by the window in the afternoons, just to catch a glimpse of their faces running home to me. And at night, I sat beside them doing their homework, I barely understood, pretending I wasn’t just as exhausted as they were. It was chaos, but it was a kind of beauty too, the beauty of early growth, just like the energy of spring before summer takes over.

Now, Autumn, I find myself in a different season. My children are older. They don’t need me in the same way anymore. They have their own plans, their own dreams, their own lives slowly forming. I am proud of them, so proud, but I’d be lying if I said my heart doesn’t ache a little. When they were small, I was their whole world. Now I stand more in the background, hoping they still carry me with them whenever they go. It feels like the trees around me, branches letting go of leaves, standing steady even as they grow lighter. 

But you, Autumn, remind me that letting go doesn’t mean losing. You show me how release can be beautiful, how each falling leaf paints the world in new colors. My children may walk their own paths now, but the roots we planted together are still deep, holding us steady even as they grow lighter.

Even now, I still whisper prayers for my children at night, just like I did when they were babies. Only now, I pray for the paths they walk on, the choices they make, the hearts they carry. I can’t hold their hands all the time anymore, but I can hold them in my prayers.

More: https://peonymagazine.com/autumn-series/autumn-through-a-mothers-eyes/

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