August Has Come

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I fear August.  I fear the slyness and swiftness with which it moves.  I fear the beautiful ring of its name: ancient, robust, wise.  And I fear the force with which it departs.

I feel rattled.  Unsteady.  Restless.

My breaths are short and hurried.

My belly quivers.

I lost both of my children in the month of August.  In the last few days of it.  Oh, how August beguilingly started in the past two years!  I hadn’t been prepared for its craftiness, not in either the first or second year.  My babies and I glided into August fluidly, the seams of the hours undetectable.  One day slid into the next, laughter and frivolity occupying the seconds, until August decided to take a turn.  It angrily erupted.  Why?  It threw a tantrum.  And it slammed the door on its way out.

I know that August does not hold power.  God doesn’t punish, though — I am confident of this.  So why, then, did Daffy and Kiri die?  No one stands guard against August.  And, thus, spoiled August stuns and rages.  I can’t catch my breath.

I would like my babies back.  I would like to plant my feet on the ground and not feel dizzy from the earth spinning.  I would like August to revert back to my childhood August, when it was just a summer month that commenced with long days and ended with escorting me to the school bus.  The door groans and slowly shuts behind me, and I find my assigned seat near a filmy window.  The morning light strikes my face.  My homework is in my backpack, and I know my spelling words.