Oliver: For some of us, each autumn brings feelings of ambivalence

“October / And the trees are stripped bare / Of all they wear / What do I care?” – “October,” U2

That song by U2, from the album of the same name, seems to capture my feelings toward autumn.

On the one hand, it’s a hauntingly beautiful song, mostly instrumental, that lingers in my mind for weeks at a time. On the other hand, the lyrics, few though they are, express an ambivalence that almost seems to work against that lovely melody line.

That’s the way I feel about the fall. Every year I find myself in an internal struggle.

Sure, there’s a lot to love about autumn. When school starts, it’s like a fresh start and a point on the calendar that makes me take stock of how the year has gone and what still needs to be accomplished. The eternal organizer, I love ready-made assessment points.

Who can deny the incredible beauty in the change of seasons, when the Midwest’s trees turn blazing shades of red, yellow and orange? There’s one incredible almost-burgundy shade that I only see on a few trees, but when I find it, it makes my heart sing every time. I’ve yet to see that color in any item of clothing or paint. If I do, though, you can be sure I’ll snatch it up.

I also must admit that I like my fall and winter clothes far more than the ones I have for summer. There’s just something about pulling on a sweater and hauling out the corduroy that gives me a sense of satisfaction. Although if you ask me how I’m feeling about them come February, I might have a different opinion.

I try to remember these good things when the inevitable waves of sadness come crashing upon me. Those are the times I have to fight the darkness that always threatens to take over.

I suppose it doesn’t help that so many people choose this time of year to celebrate dark and strange things, to revel in the very things that remind me of terrible loss.

The memories of trauma that October (and September, for that matter) trigger are difficult to deal with, but deal with them I must.

The string of sadness usually begins with the anniversary of my father’s death in September. I was 19 when he died of cancer. The fact that his cancer diagnosis came a mere nine days before he died meant that losing him was sudden and unexpected. It was two weeks before I returned to Northwestern University for my sophomore year.

Then a year later, right around Halloween, a pledge at my college sorority was murdered by her ex-boyfriend. He used a knife that was meant for carving pumpkins to kill her, then he dumped her naked body in a nearby town. All these years later, the thought of that still hurts.

More recently, two years ago my oldest brother died of cancer. Two days later, my maid of honor died of a condition she had been fighting even during my wedding to my beloved Tony.

It’s a lot to absorb and process.

That Tony and I celebrate our wedding anniversary at the end of October used to be a way to counteract some of the sadness. However, now that Tony has been getting progressively worse from his early onset Alzheimer’s disease, even that just adds to it.

We’re no longer able to go to Milwaukee to hang out in the Third Ward as we used to do. And since he doesn’t talk anymore, the whole day hasn’t been the same.

Still, I am happy that we’re still together despite everything.

Now, more than ever, I need to find a way to lean into the things that bring me joy and remind me that October and autumn still can be a source of happy memories.

So, I’ll seek out some apple cider doughnuts, something that Tony and I love so much that we actually did a farm tour just to try as many as we could one year.

I’ll make sure that Tony and I take a stroll through a nearby forest preserve to soak in the colors and the change of season.

Oh, and I’ll probably listen to that U2 song a few more times.

• Joan Oliver is the former Northwest Herald assistant news editor. She has been associated with the Northwest Herald since 1990. She can be reached at jolivercolumn@gmail.com.