Part of me has been wishing August away as quickly as possible.
You might too if you’d had the August I’ve had.
Part of me wishes there was more than this last week left.
For all the awfulness that this particular August has provided, there has also been beauty – a beauty and tumultuous abandon that have acted as a balm upon the bruised heart. For every ravaging storm, there was a sunny day of respite that followed, for every bit of disenchantment, a revelation of hidden magic. Summer carries its own reserve of illusory coping mechanisms. Mounted insecurely on the whims of some fluffy seed-head, it scatters its hope for the future on the crest of the wind, riding the air like some salty sea wave.
Last night, the rains moved back in, and it felt like a stormy fall night. We had a quiet dinner with Mom, and we took a moment to take in the fact that this was my first birthday without Dad. The beginning of a year of such firsts, and it felt a little daunting. We got through it together, and as we shared some birthday dessert back at Mom’s new home, it felt warm and cozy, like Dad was still protecting and guiding us.
That’s what will see us through the next year of firsts.
