September, I'm reclaiming you.

For three years now I've dreaded September. So many memories of that dreaded night four years ago when I first learned of Jason's death have crowded out the good feelings about the month. I love football; it starts in September, I enjoy Labor Day, the last hoorah of summer, the first day out of school for us, we always had a huge birthday party for my dad whose birthday was Sept. 10th, but the sorrow and loss has stolen this month from me. I find myself looking forward to Sept. 20th, the day that changed my life and my family forever. I don't mean "looking forward." There's nothing to look forward to, but I can't enjoy the day by day march to that date. I keep thinking... it's coming, how will I handle it this year, will there ever come a time when it doesn't punch me in the gut, what can I do to honor Jason's memory in a healthy way? I've decided that I will re-claim this month. I will look for ways to celebrate his life, celebrate his place in our family, celebrate the friendships he made in his 33 years on this earth, celebrate OSU football in his honor, celebrate the gift God gave me when he allowed me to be Jason's mom. I miss him. I don't really think I miss him more in September than I do in all the other months. I'd just love to talk to him for a few minutes. When I hear people complaining about their adult kids, I want to grab them by the collar and scream, "You are blessed to have them here to give you gray hair." "You are blessed that they need to borrow a little money occasionally." "You are blessed that they drop their kids off for you to watch." "You are blessed to have your kids outlive you." I'm not alone in this journey. I am friends with so many who have lost a child. Some of them lost children, of them lost teenagers, some lost young adults, some lost adult children like we did. The common thread that runs through our lives is we will always think in "would-have-beens." I didn't start writing this to be a sermon. I wanted to acknowledge that we have made it to another September. It's just that lately I've noticed so many people who are fussing with their family members. My husband goes every morning to see his mother in the nursing home even though she treats him horribly. I want to scream at her, "I would give anything to see Jason for just a few minutes every day." We have friends who do not speak to their parents, children, siblings, cousins, others friends. I want to scream, "Seriously, folks, life's too short for this nonsense." I have many many emotions tied up to my loss of Jason, but regret is not one of them. I've survived the heartache of losing parents, sisters, and a son, but I can look back on my relationship with all of them with no regrets.