September

Most people have certain months of the year that they love, whether it’s the beauty of fall foliage as trees shed their leaves for winter, or the early spring months as new life springs forth from the ground. Maybe it’s the heat of summer, or the brisk cold of the winter months. No matter what it is, most people have certain months that they enjoy and look forward to. On the other hand, most people also have months that they would rather do without, whether it’s the scorching heat of August or the icy cold of January, its not uncommon to have months that you just like. I’m the same way, but not for any of the reasons I already mentioned. As August has been winding down, I have been feeling an increasing sadness, uneasiness in the pit of my stomach about the coming month of September.

September in itself isn’t such a bad month. Depending on what part of the country you’re in, it marks the last gasp of summer and the first hint of fall. Schools are back in session and around the country, parents breathe a sigh of relief. Thoughts turn from summer to fall, and the inevitable coming of winter.

For me, however, September is a month chock full of pain and grief, a month of anniversaries of deaths of family that died much too young, birthdays of those that have that have passed on, never to be celebrated again. I am haunted by visions of family I have loved and lost, and while in some cases it has been years since their passing, and while I know one day we will all be together again, the pain is still all to fresh, still cuts me to my core, and affects me in ways that I wish it didn't. I can’t help but relive terrible days, can’t help but feel the guilt of things that maybe I should have done, maybe I could have done. I anguish over the things I should have said but never did, and am guilt ridden by things I did say. I have recurring nightmares where I relive the past, and while part of me knows the hurt that’s coming, I’m doomed to experience the pain, again and again.

With each death, with each part of my heart that has died, I struggle with the toll it has taken on me. How would my life have been different in each case if those who are gone, simply were still here. Where would I be? Would they be proud of the man I am trying to be? Or much like myself, would they be disappointed by all my failings. Would they be ashamed to call me son, to call me brother, to call me father? Have I ever, can I ever do enough good to make up for the bad I have done in my past? The feeling of love that I never felt in life, can I somehow feel it in death? Will the pain ever lessen? One day, will I remember the good, without the agony of loss? Or am I doomed to face this depression, this pain every September. To withdraw into myself, to hide the pain from those around me with a wink and a joke, all the while praying just to make it through, for the month to end.

Maybe if I was stronger, these pains of old wouldn't haunt me so much. Maybe if I were a better man I wouldn't let the pain alter my life every year, I wouldn't struggle through the month, just praying for the strength to come out on the other side. Or maybe I bring it all on myself. Maybe because I feel like I have failed so many of my lost family that I feel the need to suffer every year, to pay penance for past wrongs. Maybe I hold the pain close to me, so I don’t ever feel like I’m forgetting them. I don’t know the answers to why I feel like I do, why September and what it represents affects me on such a deep, dark level, but it does. All I can do is smile my way through it, try not to let my pain affect those around me, and pray for October.