My wife, Bonnie, passed away in 2020, and she was the one person who might have loved fall even more than I do. She had a childlike excitement about the weather changing and the fall color. She would run out and buy yellow, orange, and maroon mums to plant in the front yard. She’d happily start pulling the fall decorations out of the boxes. Hanging the strings of orange leaves, putting out the pumpkins and setting up the scarecrows and bales of hay.

Fall has always been my favorite season too, and honestly, it’s not even close. I know plenty of people love winter: a good snowfall, hot cocoa by a warm fire, skiing, snow tubing. I know the beach bums of the world would rather have palm trees, warm sun, and sand between their toes, swimming for hours. But for me, nothing beats the beautiful change of the leaves, turning vibrant orange, yellow, and red. I love the apple orchards and pumpkin farms of the season. I enjoy walking with the leaves crunching underfoot, and the brisk temperatures that signal fall has arrived.

I still love fall, but something is always missing. It’s quite clear what: my fall partner. I still decorate, and I still put the mums in the ground, but my heart aches a little each year doing it. I don’t go to the apple orchards or the pumpkin farm anymore.

We used to take the whole family. At the pumpkin farm we’d choose our pumpkins to take home, the enormously overgrown ones bigger than my two-year-old, and we’d buy a fresh pumpkin pie to bring home. We would also go apple picking, where we always picked far too many apples for a family of five to eat. I enjoyed every one of those September and October outings, but I don’t know that I ever fully appreciated them.

It was just what we did, an annual tradition. I can’t remember once thinking, Wow, I’m really lucky to be doing this. I never once thought that it could all stop because Bonnie would no longer be here when I turned 58.

I believe this is an important thing to realize: we take so much for granted. I don’t think any of us does it on purpose. It’s simply human nature.

I’ve done this for the majority of my life: taken the ordinary, the mundane, the day-in, day-out routines, year after year, for granted. Guilty as charged. That changed some when Bonnie passed, and more recently it changed again with my health issues.

I’ve come to realize that, in the past, I overlooked the most basic parts of life. Going to the store, taking a walk in the park, cooking dinner. I never gave much thought to the people who are unable to do any of these ordinary tasks.

I never took Bonnie for granted. I always knew what I had in her and that she was the perfect fit for me. However, her death gave me a new perspective on just how lucky I was to have her by my side. Now, my own health issues have given me a new empathy for those who struggle with everyday tasks. Between a hip condition that makes it hard to walk long distances and lower back issues that prevent me from sitting for long periods, my mobility has become more limited. That means no traveling, no trips to the farm, and no going to ball games.

Today, I try to be grateful instead of just going through the motions. I’d like to believe that I’ve gained some wisdom, some maturity. What I do know is that I have tried to change my attitude that everything we consider as simple, is a given. That traveling to the mountains is a given. That going to the store is a given. Or even that getting up in the morning and being able to walk is a given. For many, these are not. They are not givens, they are gifts.

Bill Beckett

Bill Beckett is a widower, father of three, and grandfather whose writing is rooted in emotional honesty and lived experience. After spending decades in the IT industry, including a distinguished period working in digital forensics, he turned to writing as a way to process grief and reconnect with purpose following the death of his wife, Bonnie. His debut memoir, Love, Family, Cancer, chronicled Bonnie’s three-year battle with cancer and the love that sustained them through it. The book was praised by readers for its sincerity, warmth, and vulnerability, and received a 5-star review from Readers’ Favorite. In his second book, The Empty Side of Our Bed, Beckett continues the story, exploring what happens after the loss, how grief evolves, and how identity is reshaped. While his first book was a cathartic process for him, The Empty Side of Our Bed is written with the intention of helping others navigate the difficult journey of loss. In it, he writes about the duality of memories, the many “firsts” we encounter, and offers hope for healing and finding purpose again. His writing is deeply personal but widely relatable, resonating with readers who seek comfort, solidarity, and meaning through life’s most challenging seasons. Bill lives in Georgia, where he enjoys storytelling, time with his children and grandchildren, and writing from the quiet corner of a life forever changed by love and loss.

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