After having five miscarriages, there are a lot of dates on the calendar to dread. There are loss anniversaries, due dates that didn’t come to be, real holidays and greeting card holidays that can all make me feel like I am drowning in grief again. But August, though it has no special days, seems to hold an inordinate level of indistinct blahness, for lack of a better word. Grief seems more consistently near the surface and easily triggered, even when I am not conscious of a trigger happening.
And I don’t think it is just me. In my various support groups I have read of other loss mothers having a rougher time than normal. Writers, who usually have words springing to the surface and aching to be expressed, struggle with writer’s block. Other bereaved mothers have complained about being much more short-tempered than usual or lacking motivation this month. But why does August cause this angst?
August is the end of summer vacations.
Kids have been out of school and impossible to avoid for the last couple of months. There is no place to go, outside my home, where it is adults only. I have to keep my emotional shields on all the time, which takes energy that I don’t always have. And even at home, there are triggers to avoid since social media has been bursting with pictures of perfect family vacations. It’s not that I begrudge them their fun family togetherness. But it is such a painful reminder that my family will always be a family of two. I will never get to see any of my children’s eyes light up at their first trip to a museum or the zoo.
August is the dreaded back to school season.
Without even consciously realizing it, as soon as it turned August 1st, I started dreading those first day of school posts. The new outfits, new backpacks and new books that I will never be able to pick out for any of my babies. Even if I try to avoid social media, every store has sales and signs up to remind me constantly that everyone else’s children are hitting a milestone that mine never will.
August is a change in seasons.
August signals the ending of summer and a move towards the Fall. Fall used to be my favorite season. Weather-wise, I suppose it still is. But Fall is a season of transition and it is a transition towards death. Flowers die. The grass in my lawn is all brown. Leaves drop off the trees. The season itself echoes the grief in my heart.
“August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.”
― Sylvia Plath
August is the start to the holiday season.
Halloween decorations are already creeping into stores. Adorable costumes that I will never buy. Bulk candy that I will buy and then eat myself because I won’t be able to force myself to face the trick-or-treaters. Halloween is closely followed by Thanksgiving and Christmas. As much as I try not to think about them, I can’t avoid the knowledge that they are drawing inevitably closer again.
August can’t end soon enough. And yet, I dread the months that follow even more.
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