Dear September 10th,
Here we are again for the 25th year in a row, staring each other down like mortal enemies. Maybe it's time we have that talk that's long overdue.
First of all, I don't like you - that's no secret. But this next admission just might surprise you; You see, I have come to realize that my dislike for you isn't totally fair. You're not the only day to blame. Nope, September 9th needs to 'man up' and share some of that burden as well.
After all, September 9th you were the one that started this. Don't look at me like that - you know what you did! It was YOU we were marvelling at with the golden autumn sunshine, warm temperature and your blue cloudless sky before you sucker punched us with the news that our baby's heart had stopped beating. It was YOU that continued to happen as the world spinned on it's axis, while ours came to a screeching halt. You went on and on with your beautiful self just like everything was perfect while we waited to give birth to a little boy that would never breath your air. It was YOU that passed by so slowly, holding onto him until you could force him out into the wee hours of an innocent, unsuspecting new day. How very clever, thinking you could shrink away and be forgotten as if him coming into this world on a different day would absolve you of any wrong.
But on the other hand September 10th, it hasn't helped your case that every year - and it doesn't matter how deep of a sleep I'm in - my eyes fly open at exactly 30 minutes past midnight - the exact time that sleeping angel entered our world.
Every year the week leading up to you I beg God for something wonderful to happen on September 10th This Year. Something that we can remember for all time - that magical 'Something' that will fill that awful, empty void you left us with.
'Please Jesus - let me win the lottery.... get that promotion.... that house.... or at the very least make me thinner on this day.'
This year I decided to 'get tough' by prepping myself and repeating the following over and over.
'You need to let this go, Kath. He was only a baby - it's not like you really knew him. It's not like Cheri Allison's Nathan, or Maretta Smith's Shawn - young men that were taken in their prime - Jayson was 'just' a baby.'
Yes, but he was my baby.
So you see, Sep - I can call you Sep, can't I? Unless you know somethin' I don't, we'll be meeting here again next year - and the next, and the next...
But here's a cold hard fact - you won't win at this game. I may die tomorrow, or I may die at 105. But when I get where I'm goin' there'll be only 'happy tears' and you won't even be a memory.
And looonnggg after you're gone - don't look so surprised - you know what the Good Book says - time (that's you) will pass away - and our relationship will come to an abrupt halt. But until that happens I suppose I'll just deal with you the best way I know how. I'll go ahead and feel what I feel and gather up a years worth of strength until our next meeting. After all, it is what it is...