It is August, the other side of April. It is another month, but for the sheer grace of a beautiful child born in this month, I would wish it to perdition.
August and I have never gotten along. Frankly, neither have April and I. They have always been transition months to me and this year has sparked its best battle yet. Transition means change and while I open my arms to change and the challenge it brings, April and August seems to have particular cruelty to their flavor of change. Except for two beautiful children. For them alone, I would be happy to suffer Augusts & Aprils all year long, if it ensured their lives.
I am not beaten by the changes that have occurred in my life. Humbled, devastated with emotions that pour out of me willy-nilly like I am a cracked vase, but the transition months will not win.
I am not new to loss and I am not new to grief. I have learned to appreciate its talent in coming in waves. I've remembered how to navigate my own memories and impulses to swim deeply in sorrow. It is one thing to dwell, it is another to drown.
I am not allowed to drown. Although, I can never live for two, I can do my damnedest to not leave two children with another painful memory and one with an absence of even that.