A Season of Surrender: Reflections on Childbirth in the Fall

When I first found out that the due date for my second child was in October, I was immediately thrilled. Cuddling a newborn in the fall somehow seemed like the best way to enjoy a season meant for cozy fires, warm beverages, and the company of family and friends. As the time came for his arrival, the nesting phase of pregnancy flowed well into the transition of seasons. Packing up summer clothes, pulling out warm sweaters and baby blankets, and changing our menu from summer salads to hearty soups and stews aligned my home and body for the coming of our little one. 

Something that always captures my thoughts during the fall is the beauty of death. It is striking how nature is so gloriously radiant right before the frost of winter comes to silence its splendor. Beauty and death intertwine in a mysterious way during the autumn, and while, at first glance, it seems counterintuitive, there’s meaning behind nature’s design. The beauty of fall is distinct from the beauty of spring; spring bears a brightness that radiates youthful energy. Autumn carries a more solemn grandeur that tells of a life well-lived with wisdom to share. The jarring sweep of golden colors unleash a symphony of age-old beauty, an homage to a life well spent. Autumn is a time of harvest as well, a time to gather the fruits of one’s labor and prepare for the coming winter. Yet we know that this beauty will not last. The leaves will fall and die, and the bare branches lose their luster.  

Part of autumn’s beauty radiates in the recognition of labor that bears great fruit, allowing one the freedom to rejoice in the security of the harvest and it’s produce. Yet despite the many beauties of autumn, the knowledge of oncoming death remains. We know that the leaves will fall and die, the harvest will be gathered, and the bare earth become hard with winter’s cold. 

While the autumn season causes me to reflect on this intersection between beauty and death, this year, the arrival of my second child has spurred me to notice similarities between this season and the experience of childbirth. 

Birth shares a connection with autumn’s portrayal of death and beauty through the woman’s surrender of her body. The labor required to bear a child brings a woman as close as ever to both life and death all at once. On the one hand, the intensity of her pain bears the touch of death, and on the other, she is the bearer of new life in its purest form. For a child to be born, the woman must “die to herself”, surrendering her body to the surges that come over her. This death is a sincere declaration of her love for her child and a foreshadowing of the continual sacrifices to come in motherhood. But as autumn shows us, any sacrifice of love bears a beauty more striking than the simple beauty of flowers in spring or a golden summer sunset. This beauty bears a depth unlike others in its astounding humility. In fact, you could argue that any truly beautiful work of art always carries the mark of this same sacrificial humility because the artist could not have created it without surrendering a piece of himself along the way. And though this surrender requires a kind of death, it allows for the creation of something new.

Surrender, on its own, indicates a defeat or loss of power, yet when understood in the context of another’s good, it bears a whole new meaning. After having gone through childbirth for the second time, I can’t help but feel grateful to have the opportunity to partake in this sacred sacrifice. Though it demands great suffering, I can clearly see how it has made my life more beautiful. You might look at my home and see piles of laundry, or my face and see tired eyes, but my heart is brimming with love, which is the essence of beauty. 

Nature constantly demonstrates her surrender to each season, and while we often mourn their end, without them, we would never be able to appreciate that same season the following year or the unique beauty of the next. The death of autumn ultimately brings us the spring of new life. My hope is that we can all take a page from nature’s book and learn to surrender to whatever season we might be in, whether it is one of joy, sorrow, confusion, or hope. Through this surrender, may we create room within ourselves for the birth of something new.