September. For the last eight years September has marked the coming of October. For me that meant the end of naively thinking that a pregnancy that has survived the first trimester equaled a take home baby. It meant the realization that you can go home from the hospital with nothing but a mother's empty, aching arms and a broken heart. After eighteen years of marriage it was our second pregnancy and the only one to survive the first trimester. Sometimes September is harder. I don't know why.
Two years ago with the death of my mother that changed. August was now the beginning of my constant sadness. At least I knew that at the end of October I would feel a renewed hope. I would be one year closer to being with her and holding her in my arms and never letting go. I would have hope because I survived another year of my heart aching so much that I couldn't imagine it beating for another full minute much less an hour or day.
November will be the first year anniversary of my husbands death. I feel like there is no end in sight, no bright light at the end of the tunnel, no silver lining. As I spiral down an endless, dark pit, I wonder if I'll ever see the light of day again. I will. I know. It just doesn't feel like it right now. I still get through each day by convincing myself that he's not home yet or upstairs or outside. When I think about it too much my heart seems to spring countless leaks and struggles for every beat, it becomes so heavy. So, I wonder...What will November be like?