After this month, I fear every other August to come will never be the same. The month that once held the happiness of a birthday and the last completely full month of summer is now the month in which we lost Dad, the month we got COVID, and the month in which so much joy drained from my world. Still, finding myself at the end of this wretched month, I am suddenly hit with a hesitancy to let it all go just like that. Even amid the sorrowful events that happened, there was beauty here – beauty in every one of those transitions. So much hurt, and so much love, and so much life in the middle of loss. My tears fell as much for sadness as they did for gratitude.
It might be easy to slip into a state of bitterness and anger, and I might have an understandable right to delve into those darkened rooms. Perhaps those moments are on the horizon, but so far I’ve taken the sting out of that downward spiral, trying to be still and quiet, trying to take it all in as it comes – waves of grief, waves of calm, waves of sorrow, waves of hope, waves of comfort – and without any sort of pride in it, I feel I am handling the days as best as one might.
This month will be one that haunts me for quite some time, and I find an odd reassurance in that. It will become part of the tapestry that makes up my lifeline here on earth – the threads of this August will be forever wound and bound into the richness of life that has revealed itself to me these last few weeks. There is meaning and purpose and beauty in our saddest days; I am choosing to believe that, and choosing to carry that beauty with me going forward.
