I know it’s only July, but September is out there looming, just waiting around the corner. September used to just mean playoff races in baseball, the new football season, Fall shopping, back to school……I will never be able to look at September the same way again. The end of summer always brings the memories and fears back to me. September 6th was the day I was admitted to the hospital, bleeding from an abruption and in premature labor at 23 weeks and 4 days.
There is a song out called Wake Me Up When September Ends. That’s kind of the way I feel sometimes. I just want that month to be over……that month with all the memories, that month when I am plagued with guilt and fear, that month that I can’t escape what prematurity has done to my son and to me and to my family. Most of the time, we are able to rejoice in Ryley and the miracle that he is. He has come ever so far. He runs, he plays, he sings, he does well in preschool, he drives me insane with his almost -six -year- old antics, he simply lights up my life. But in September, the asthma medications he takes everyday become a burden and a reminder of what my body was not able to do. In September, the potty issues become even weightier as another birthday passes and we still struggle to stop the accidents. In September those pains in his knee arise once again and I am fearful that it is somehow a result of his early birth. It’s not that these fears never affect me any other month of the year, but in September, I face them with heavier heart. In September, the fear and other emotions win the battle.
When we emerge from September every year, another birthday has passed for Ryley. We have made it through another year. We are one more year away from that fateful day, and I can take another deep breath. I can see the joy and miracle that is my son. I can push those fears and hurts back a bit, to that corner of my heart and that room in my mind, hidden away to pop out occasionally, waiting impatiently for another September to come.
While September is nearly two months away, I know it is coming. I know it is waiting for me. Every year, I hope I will escape. I pray that this will be the year I will stop counting down the hours and the days, that I will get through each day without remembering that this happened at this minute of this day, this disaster was averted at this hour of this day, and that at this minute of this day, my tiny 14-week-early son was born, and our journey began.