Your birthday.

You loved that it was at the beginning of fall when colors and winds were changing. Cooler mornings and shorter days, night creeping in a bit sooner every day. Fresh apples and candles and pumpkin bread. Sweaters and breezes and leaves turning. Soccer and long walks and trips to the mountains.

You loved it all.

I struggle for a while each year before I can embrace it. Fall brings you close, pain and joy walking side by side. On your birthday, I’m choosing to hold hands with joy.

And it’s not hard, because of you.

You were a bright light in this dark world. Sunshine and warmth. Laughter and fun. A motivator. Loyal and kind. An adventurer. A doer, a helper. An encourager. A lover of children, of family, of life. A cherished friend. Determined and brave. A faithful servant, a follower of Christ.

Not perfect, but beautiful. I miss you every day.

And it’s hard to balance the missing you with the loving you.

We’re heading to the mountains this afternoon, and we will be holding close all our memories of you there. In one of your favorite places, doing some of your favorite things.

Grabbing joy by the hand, just like you would do.

Our garden is scraggly and mostly brown, but a few tomatoes still ripen, red and sweet. Determinedly they hold on, ignoring the calendar. Just doing what they are made to do, as long as they can, as well as they can.

The sweet juiciness, an unexpected October pleasure.

Like every thought of you.

I’m reaching through the gnarly branches to pick the sweetest fruit. And thanking God for His full redemption of what is dying, what is broken. For His sure and precious promises to all who love Him.

I’m thanking Him for you and for life that lasts forever.

And cherishing this thought: the same hand that is holding you is holding me.

Happy birthday, Rissa. I love you.