As Fall Approaches: A Season of Color, Faith, and Strength

Linda Cohen is a survivor of small lymphocytic lymphoma and was diagnosed in 2009. Catch up on all of Linda's blogs here!

I’ve always been one of those people who loves all four seasons. This past spring, I wrote about how much I adore the burst of new life that comes with the arrival of this season. Now, as fall approaches, I am not sad, as some might be as summer comes to an end. Instead, I find it fascinating that before the leaves and flowers fade, something extraordinary happens—the world explodes in color. That brilliant display seeps into my soul and makes me feel alive. I love driving around to take in the glorious reds, oranges, and yellows before everything settles into winter’s stark black-and-white.

I have been told that I handle living with cancer graciously. I’m glad it seems that way, though anyone living with cancer knows it takes work—just as a good marriage takes work. Reframing difficult situations takes effort and creativity. It’s easy to look at autumn and see only the end of the vivid greenery of the landscape and the chill ahead. But I prefer William Cullen Bryant’s words: “Autumn, the year’s last, loveliest smile.” That quote leaves me with a quiet smile deep inside. Maybe that’s also why I’ve always loved the song Autumn Leaves,which I used to sing as a child. Sinatra’s line, “But I miss you most of all, my darling, when autumn leaves start to fall,” will always be with me. Fall invites me outdoors—to walk briskly among the changing trees, to breathe in crisp, cool air after humid summer days, or to sip a warm cup of coffee on the porch. Those fall walks leave me feeling healthy even though I have cancer, and they remind me that small choices, like moving my body or breathing in fresh air, can make a big difference in how I feel.

Fall is transitional, and transitions can stir emotions. With my cancer, I welcome meaningful distractions. Autumn brings many: my grandchildren heading back to school, Halloween, and multiple family birthday celebrations, mine, included! It’s also the season of some of the most meaningful Jewish holidays. The Jewish New Year, 5786, is a time of reflection—acknowledging where I fell short, asking forgiveness, and recommitting to do better. It is a season of compassion, when we think of those less fortunate and work toward making the world more just. For me, it’s not a time to dwell on my illness. Instead, I use these days to focus on the richness of life, the love of family, and the traditions that have carried me through even the hardest moments.

Then comes Sukkot (the Feast of Booths) an agricultural festival of thanksgiving for the harvest, and one of my favorite holidays. Each year, my family builds and decorates our sukkah, a foliage-covered hut where we eat our meals for seven days, weather permitting. Sitting inside it, I feel wrapped in God’s embrace, just as He protected the children of Israel in the wilderness when they wandered for forty years, which is the origin of this holiday. For me, it’s both magical and deeply spiritual, a reminder of divine protection as I face the uncertainties of my cancer.

Though I am currently doing well thanks to treatment I began three years ago, I’ve now been taken off the medication, knowing the cancer will return but with no idea when. I still receive monthly infusions and must be vigilant with my compromised immune system. In winter, I avoid eating indoors, but during Sukkot I delight in every meal I can share outdoors with friends. It is a holiday that reminds me that joy and gratitude can flourish even in temporary shelters.

For all these reasons, when autumn begins, I feel uplifted. It’s a season filled with beauty, meaning, and gratitude. Each season offers its own gifts, and taking time to notice them is a worthwhile exercise. It’s a time to sit in the still of silence and listen in the quiet for what you’re meant to hear when the noise of the world is blocked out. When I pause to welcome and admire the beauty of fall and reflect on its blessings, I’m reminded that gratitude is always within reach—and that even in the midst of uncertainty, there is so much life to embrace.

This piece reflects the author’s personal experience and perspective. For medical advice, please consult your health care provider.

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