Well fall here has finally decided to step into the place the summer has been most reluctant to vacate in a timely manner. The temperatures have dropped, and dropped fast, going from almost ninety degrees on Monday to a brisk sixty-three today. While I am not one to complain about the cooler days, I will say I would have liked a more gradual let down, so to speak.

Along with missing that slow, colorful simmer down from our hot summer into the current crisp early October, I am feeling low about missing something special that fall usually brings out for myself and my children, the tradition of apple picking time. Apparently, due to the excessively hot summer we experienced, the apple crop has come up very short, and the local orchards have not been open for families to enjoy the usual seasonal perk. As odd as it may sound, this makes me sad for the missed event as well as for some deeper, more emotional reasons.

I am a person who does not ever want to miss out, and missing this tradition of picking the fall apples with my little guys, is also reminding me of other sweet, expectant moments that I have missed with my children. I know that I have not missed as much (on this end of their lives) as their birthparents. I have missed some of the first, most precious moments though. I missed the opportunity to conceive them, to be pregnant, to grow, nurture and bring them into the world. I wasn’t able to do that for my much loved children, and sometimes that hurts.

Ok, I guess it is easy to understand after all how missing the fall harvesting of the fruit, brings up the sadness over my not being involved in the “growing” of these wonderful children. This season in their little lives, is when I entered the picture.

Yes, my children would not be who they are without the nurturance of their birthparents, and I am glad that I have been allowed into the process of their evolving lives. Most times I can set aside the fact that I was not present from the first spark of life, but occasionally the sadness resurfaces, like today, when the apples should be ready for my contribution (the picking and enjoying), but they aren’t.

It is funny how I never imagined sadness over my infertility, in the same stroke with fall apple picking, but now that I have, it sort of makes sense.

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