The leaves are changing again; all the fiery hues of the sunset bedeck the trees in our yard. It’s strange—the season with the most profuse color is the very season of impending death. In the spring there are beautiful colors. Soft colors, the green grass and green leaves dominate the season. It isn’t like that during autumn. Autumn is the blending of colors.

I always loved autumn. The coolness of the nights, the warmth of the kitchen, but most of all I loved curling up in front of the fireplace with you. You fit so well in the crook of my arm, your downy head pillowed on my breast. Your pink cheeks plumped and your dimpled fist waving about. You were so little back then. So full of life and innocence.

     You kept that innocence and you always had a smile for me. At least you did when you were little. You were my angel—as beautiful as any in Heaven. I never expected you. I thought I’d never have a child of my own. I wasn’t fertile, you see. That’s what the doctors told me. They said I’d never have children. I was only twenty-two when I found out I was pregnant. Just a kid myself. I never had time to tell your father, he didn’t stick around.

     Being a single mother wasn’t hard. You gave me energy and joy. As you grew, I learned to let you take your own steps, make your own decisions. I wonder now if I should have. It is a year today since I lost you, my sweet angel. I didn’t mean to yell at you that day. I was mad, but not at you.

     I was on my way to pick you up when that man in the green car rear-ended me. He yelled at me. Said I’d stopped for no reason. It didn’t matter that there were children crossing the road. I was glad I’d stopped so far back, so those little girls and their brother would make it home to their mommy. That’s why I was late picking you up. I had to wait for the police, and then I had to have the exhaust pipe put in the trunk. I rushed, baby boy, I hurried to your school to pick you up.