Reminders

I hate September. It is the one month of the whole year that I am viciously reminded that I am not good enough; for my kids, for my parents, and my husband.

For the world.

It is also the one month that finds me on my knees every night, a sloppy sobbing woman who hurts to the very bottom of her soul and there is absolutely nothing she can do about it. It's not that I am a helpless woman, it is truly because there is nothing I can do about it.

Matthew turns 28 on September 6th. He lived with me the first five years of his life.

My dad will be 77 years old on September 12th and I still have not seen him this summer and they will be going back to Florida soon.

Alexander's birthday is September 13th. I was afraid he would be born on my dad's birthday, yet he wasn't. He was born and died just a few minutes past midnight.

September 13th is also the day I lost my best friend, Tim. I still feel guilty that, had I been there as planned that night (and listened to my gut), he would still be alive. Tim was the first person I called after my grandson was born the month prior and he was genuinely happy.

Tim had called me, while I was driving to Toledo for Monica's ultrasound, to see if he could stop by later. At the time he called, Matthew, Monica's mom and Monica weren't even sure if Monica would deliver that day - yet she did.  When I called Tim later that night, he really was incredibly happy for me and thought it funny that I was now a grandma. "You don't look old enough to be a grandma," he laughed.

My stepmom's birthday is around the 21st or 22nd of September, as is my grandmother's.

I am still so deeply hurt by my stepmom's words and, while I may eventually forgive her, I won't ever forget.

I miss my grandmother so much. She died the same month and year Henry and I were married.

Her house always had an open door and I always felt comforted when I walked through the door. I can still smell her perfume and feel the softness of her skin. While I feel blessed I was able to hold her as she passed away, it still hurts to have had to let her go.

Her house was always the one place I could go and feel loved beyond measure and she never judged me. Grandmother was the very first person I called when I found out I was pregnant with Matthew. The southern drawl of her happiness at the news of my pregnancy still resonates inside my head. I eventually called my parents and gave them the news and while they were "happy" about it, yet it was Grandmother's excitement and approval that I needed first.

My husband's birthday is September 25th. I wasn't enough for him. Or maybe I was too much for him? Sadly, I may never know the answer either way. I am still glad that he was born. If only he had listened to my warning BEFORE things spun out of control, I wonder if we would still have wound up like this; apart. Still, he didn't heed the warning, reassuring me everything would be fine. By the time he realized he should have listened to me it was too late.

September, I fucking hate you.