The Last Hurrah

I feel like this week-end is most likely the "last hurrah" of summer. I love the way flowers and plants and trees seem to rally for one last glorious bloom before they die off for the winter. I read somewhere that we could be more like trees, and let go more easily of what becomes dead in us. And let go with such dignity and grace! I can't say I'm letting go easily of my youth. I don't like the stubborn weight around my middle, the dark age spots on my face, the wrinkles and bags under my eyes, the greying of my gorgeous thick brown hair, the forgetfulness, the slow waning of energy, the aches that are new every day. Frankly, it sucks to look in a mirror. I've come face to face (no pun intended!) with my life long vanity. It's humbling, to say the least. Anyway, I digress. In my career as a nurse, I've witnessed many deaths. Seems like many times there is a "last hurrah", a rallying before the end. A time when a semi-conscious, dying person becomes alert enough to sit up, have a bowl of ice cream with hot fudge (what my choice would be), settle with family and friends, and speak of their love. Because that's all there is, after all. That's what the growing things are telling us in autumn. It's an ancient message and a foreshadowing of eternity. The beauty is in the decline, because it's the necessary letting go so we can get to the really good stuff to come.