‘Tis the last day of August, and I can’t help but think: Good riddance, Month No. 8! I don’t think I’ll miss you.
Truth is, in recent years August has come to bog me down with its air stagnant as dog breath, its gardens that wilt overnight, its lake water hot as a bath.... I could go on, but it’s probably obvious already. The “in-between-seasons” blues hits me hard this time of year. Every year.
But August also happens to be “Happiness Happens Month!” So on that note, here are a couple lessons I've learned, or reconfirmed, during August. Some have made me happy. Others have just made me think. In either case, here you have 'em.
About the seasons: The seasons (and months) don’t just change with the weather, they change with our lives. August is a prime example.
As a kid, I loved August. Yes, it was hot and humid even back then, even up north in my native Michigan. But back in the day, school didn’t start until after Labor Day. August meant days at the lake. Nights to hang out. Time to wind down before back-to-school time hit. August was good.
Later, as a parent of school-aged children living in the South, I was surprised to learn back-to-school time didn't mean September but rather August. It was soooo early for the poor kids. But lucky mom. August became my second chance at a new year, a season to start with a clean slate once again. Equally important, August provided a chance to catch a breath before life really got busy, as in the HalloThanksChristmas season.
But August looks different in the grandparent season of life. I find myself happy but sorrowful as the grands return to school, their sports teams forming, their days less leisurely. They can no longer prioritize coming over for pool time or spending a day at the lake. That doesn't make me happy.
If I take an even deeper dive into this season of my life, August is one more marker of so many things I haven’t accomplished, like traveling to Scotland, finishing my work-in-progress, landing a literary agent, and marking all fifty states off my list of places I have been. Diving even deeper, if I get out of myself and plunge into the cavern of others’ lives, August reminds me there are loved ones of kids no longer with us (think Sandy Hook Elementary or Stoneman Douglas High School, just for two examples). Those folks truly have reason to mourn this bittersweet month.
Indeed, the seasons don’t just change with the weather. They often change on a dime. Much the way that life does.
About science and medicine. This past August has brought into focus medical miracles that continue to transform my life. I continue to be grateful and awed. And, no, I’m not talking about COVID vaccines, although they do fall into this category.
There are other medical wonders, besides the development of vaccines, that have transpired in the last seventy years or less. Specifically, I’m thinking about organ donation and transplant. The first successful kidney transplant occurred in the 1950s. Successful liver, heart, and pancreas transplants occurred in the late 1960s, and lung and intestinal transplants followed in the 1980s. Why do I care? Probably because my sister Lisa (below right) is alive today because my sister Tina (below left) bravely donated a kidney to her back in 2001.
Two other young women very special to me are facing a similar journey in the coming months of 2021. Needless to say I’m grateful for the advances in science and medicine throughout the years.
You likely have similar stories of medical miracles that have touched you. What about that sweet friend who’s battling cancer? Or the loved one struggling with mental health issues? Advances in science and medicine increase their chances for a positive outcome. A medical miracle touched my life yesterday when my husband had his left retina re-attached. Chances are he’ll regain at least 90% of the vision he’s lost. That’s the bomb. So I’m grateful for so many things. Advances in technology. Gifted doctors. Prayer. Good mojo. Positive outcomes are never guaranteed, but this August I’m reminded that miracles do happen.
About the garden. Oh, my, yes, Georgia gardens do get dry in August. (Dry, or plagued by floods, depending on the year and the time of the month.) In past arid Augusts, I blamed my wilting garden on my work schedule and not being able to water early morning. I no longer have that excuse. But I also don’t have the onus of fretting we’ll starve if the garden fails to come through. In that case, we’ll just re-till and try again.
But you know what? Sometimes even dry gardens produce. And that makes me happy.
So here’s to August—the lessons it provides, the happiness (and sadness) it brings, the seasons of life it touches. I may not be all that sorry to see this August's passing, but I damn well hope to be around to usher it in again in 2022.
Cheers ~ J
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