There are dozens of mournful songs about September, and until this year it hadn’t occurred to me that the month has such a melancholy reputation.
Reduced sunlight can prompt Seasonal Affective Disorder, aptly known as SAD.
Transitioning from laid-back summer days to hectic fall schedules can be stressful.
For some (like me) the end of summer can signal regret for not accomplishing goals set in the spring.
If spring is the season of hope, it’s no wonder September can be the season of regret.
I just never noticed.
Autumn brings more comfortable temperatures, vibrant colors and the celebration of harvest. Better still, pesky flies and mosquitoes are gone with the first hard freeze.
What’s not to love about September?
On Tuesday, Sept. 13, 2022, our Carson died by suicide. It was a sunny afternoon, and the trees were just beginning to turn.
Now when Chance and I walk through our grove, I see September through different eyes.
I gaze up through a golden canopy filtering the afternoon sun and imagine it was Carson’s final earthly view as God took him home.
Time waits for no one, and what’s hardest are the passing days that pull him further away. He’s slipping into history like an untethered boat drifting from shore.
And just like that, a full year has passed since our last I-love-you-Mom hug.
Carson’s first “heaven-iversary” was hard, but I don’t blame September.
Matt and I were married on Sept. 6, 2014. Five years later, on Sept. 6, 2019, brain cancer took my mom.
So, the day now shares those occasions. I celebrate a husband I dearly love while also wishing I could call Mom on her birthday.
September can be that way, both endearing and sorrowful at the same time.
Last week Jonathan proposed to his sweet Brittany.
It was a sunny Sept. 7 when he dropped to one knee outside the front door of their home. The ring was presented only moments after signing papers on their house in Luverne.
I wept tears of pure joy. My son is moving “home,” and I’m gaining a lovely daughter.
But I also wept for Carson. It was another family memory he won’t be part of, and these are moments we’ll never experience with him.
How could the same salty tears fall for such very different reasons at the very same time?
I suppose for the same reason September can be so beautiful and so painful all at once.
Our hardships make the joys all the more meaningful, and the deepest joys make our losses all the more difficult.
September reminds us that life can be that way.
Now when Chance and I walk through our grove, I see September through different eyes. I gaze up through a golden canopy filtering the afternoon sun and imagine it was Carson’s final earthly view as God took him home.