"Beware the Ides of March," the famous Shakespeare quote warns. Dear old Will gives a forboding picture of March 15th and the wickedness that could possible ensue on that day. Why he picked that particular day, I'll never know. Perhaps there is some sort of folklore that I'm is unknown to me, maybe Shakespeare had some event that occurred to him personally on that day, who knows but it made an impression large enough of the bard that he felt the need to write on it. I say kudos to Will on that and today, I'm following in his illustrious footsteps if only for a moment.
I seem to be in the midst of my own Ides of March, only mine doesn't seem to span a single day, rather a whole month of days, one after another. Rather than having a bad March 15th, I'm having the worst August of my lifetime. Yes, I can say that without even questioning my logic. This August sucks.
My ill fate began on the 9th (not exaclty the Ides of August) with an event that I will not even mention here besides saying that it rocked me to the core. It is so disheartening to realize that perhaps things that were counted on will not turn out as planned and, in a nutshell, this is what happened on that day. The occurence on that day is something that I think about a lot. Sadly, I think I lost something very special on that day and it's something that I'll never have again. Was there anything that I could have done to stop it? No. The even was absolutely out of my hands. Now, all I can do is hold on to the memories pre August 9th and keep on kicking, because that's what I do. (Vague, I know. There are some things that even I don't divluge. )
Two days later, with August 9th still a fresh scar spanning the length of my heart, mind and soul, I was trying to stay busy and went to visit my parents at their personal oasis (a campground of all places). Most of the day was stellar. I took long golfcart rides with the best dog on the planet, had the best ice cream ever and bonded with my parents. It was in the middle of that bonding that my mom received a phone call that pulled down whatever I had built up that day: my gram, the woman who had been an amazing part of my world forever, was life-threateningly sick. Gram had been ill for awhile. Alzheimers had stolen her mind away from us and eventually it had ravaged her body as well, taking her hunger away until she starved. Even though my gram was a skeleton of the amazingly strong woman that she once was, at least she was in our world, and I found comfort in that. Now there was a chance she was leaving us and that ripped me apart.
By the next afternoon, Gram had succumbed to pnuemonia and what was left of her soul went to join my grandfather(s) who had preceeded her. I found out as I was preparing to go to school to help a friend. As is my way, I went anyway. It's better to stay busy. Busy means not feeling as much. Still, busy couldn't keep me from missing my mentor. In a way, it's selfish for me to feel this way since she was finally freed from the grips of Alzheimers and that truly is a blessing.
The next morning, my sister's family and myself were making the trip to Michigan to witness my Gram's final rest. It was a whirlwind event that--I feel--was done in a haste that hurts me. My Gram was a thoughtful person and I know that there were so many plans she orchestrated for my life. There were so many moments that she made important for me and I wanted her last moment to be that spectacular. Some things don't go as planned. Still, my Gram is buried in an interesting place where many famous and important people have also been laid to rest. To me, none are as important as her.
When she died, so did my connection to Michigan. I no longer have anything that will draw me back to my birthplace. All of my roots have been pulled and transplanted in West Virginia. That kind of hurts in it's own way. It's something I have to just let go so that I can help my son create his own roots right here. Life is about change and this one has taken twenty some years but it has happened.
The rest of the month has been filled with little bumps in the road: Drew getting strep, my getting stung by a bee and swelling to the point where I began eating Benadryl like they were Skittles, blisters and a million other little things that are too petty to mention but hurt in the grand scheme of things. I guess that point is that when there are a few big moments, all of the little ones just add to the pain.
And when I thought that the larger ones had come and gone, I dyed my hair pink. It was a deal that I made with my school kids. They came through on their end of the bargain so I had to do mine. That's just how I work. When I did it, I thought that pink hair wouldn't be a big deal. It was HUGE. Every time I looked into the mirror, I saw a stranger. The person looking back at me wasn't myself. To make matters worse, having pink hair in the world isn't an easy feat. Everywhere I went, people stared at me and, at this moment in time, that was the last thing I needed. THe pink hair lasted all of four days before I made it John Frieda natural brown. Still, bits of pink are everywhere. It's like I can't get rid of it!
Then, as if enough weren't enough, I was taking my walk when I tweaked my knee. I swear, it was just walking and then there was a pinch. Funny how that happens...and at the most inopportune times. One of those people that I like to fake strength in front of just happened to drive by as I was on the edge of tears. Since it's my way, I plastered on a smile and a wave even though that's not what I was feeling at the moment. Weakness isn't an option. Today, I will try my walk again. Hopefully I don't get hit by a car but if nobody hears from me by tomorrow night, please call my mom so she can have someone look for the body. I'm kidding!...Maybe.
Counting today, there are four days left in August. My sole wish at this point is to get out of this month alive. September is when Drew was born and if the most wonderful being in my world came to be then, other wonderful things can also happen. It's what I'm counting on and it's what pulls me through every time another horrible thing happens to me. I can get through these doldrums just as Shakespeare survived his Ides of March. This means that this March 15, and hopefully the next hundred or so, should be perfect. I'm holding on to that thought or I'm going to crawl under a bed somewhere.
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