Jasper was a collector, but never more so than in autumn. He would come home and lay out his treasures on the table, small hands working quickly. Conkers and their broken shells, waiting to be unsuccessfully pieced together like an impossible jigsaw. Large red leaves that left a rusty confetti on his fingers. Cobnuts that he would later place in piles in the garden for the squirrels he liked to watch from the windows. The only items that never made it home were the blackberries that he would eat as messily as possible, leaving purple kisses on her cheek when he ran through the door. She would inhale deeply as he placed his arms around her neck, his red hair smelling of warm earth and sour apples.
“Why does Autumn happen Mummy?”
“What do you mean sweetheart?” She watched as pulled his latest haul from the pockets of his bright yellow rain jacket, conkers glowing under the kitchen lights. The macaroni cheese cooking in the oven made the room smell comfortingly musty.
“Everything dies. Why?”
She folded her arms and looked at him. He never failed to surprise her with his questions, thinking deeper than his years. Her parents said he had been born wanting answers, his forehead constantly pulled into a thoughtful frown above large blue eyes that seemed to get brighter as he aged.
“Why do you think everything dies?”
He chewed a fingernail, a habit she hated but one she knew he had learned from her. “All of the leaves fall. We stomp on them until they’re dust and then the rain washes them away. The flowers in our garden die. Their petals turn a funny colour and then they shrivel up.”
She sat down next to him and chose a conker, rolling it between her fingers. “Ok. But what about spring when it all comes back again? Nothing has really died. The tree grows new leaves, and the flowers come back. They might not be the exact same flowers as before, but they have come from the same plant. They have transformed, like the way a caterpillar transforms into a butterfly. It’s not dying. It’s becoming new.”
The frown. “Does that mean Daddy will transform and come back new?”
She had known the question was coming, thoughts of Andrew never far from their minds. His smell could still be found on their bedroom pillows, a mixture of woodsmoke and leather with a soft undertone of caramel.
“I’m afraid it doesn’t quite work like that with people. We have to keep them alive by keeping our hearts full with thoughts of them. But we do have daddy’s tree, and we’ll help that grow by sitting underneath it and telling each other our favourite stories about daddy. How does that sound?”
He took the conker from her hands and placed it with the others. “Will you help me choose some leaves from under his tree?”
She kissed the top of his head. “Of course I will.”