I knew that September was coming. It always does, and I'm always glad- until this day actually arrives. September signals the end of summer, the none-too-soon blessing of cooler weather, the month of my favorite local festivals...
But this morning a friend called before I'd dragged myself out of bed, and when we said goodbye, I looked at the date as I closed my phone. "Oh. It's September." The tears came immediately, and I didn't even have the decency to be surprised at them.
Today I'll wander around the Fourth Street Festival. I adore this festival, everything about it. Everything but the fact that eight years ago, I was also enjoying Fourth Street, not knowing that my dear sweet friend had just killed himself in his father's winter studio in a Chicago suburb. Today is the anniversary of his death, and it's still harder than I want it to be.
September is an emotionally loaded month for me. Anniversaries of suicide and rape. Festivals. Birthdays. My 31st birthday is a week from tomorrow. My sister's birthday is three days later, and is also the anniversary of the rape. Thirteen years. September is a roller coaster. My brother's birthday. Several friends'. Lotus Festival. Highs and lows, in messy rows.
There's a sweet, sad song that my father taught my sister and me. Remember September, before she said goodbye~ she showed the youngest robins the way they ought to fly~ around the mountain's shoulders, she spread a gypsy shawl~ and sent a breeze among the trees to sing about the fall...
5 comments:
I am holding you in my heart, Anna.
Thank you~ I can certainly use any and all good energy right now!
(((hug)))
A very belated thank you, B.
Anna Pieka Valentine:
I am a retired English teacher doing a search this morning for the lines Remember September before she said goodbye...and the search led to your use of the lines. I am in the process of rewriting a memoir (about days growing up in Virginia), and I came across this very poem in an old brown composition book and materials left by a young man of 16, a foster child of ours,from when I was a young boy. He signed the piece, but I knew it had to have been written by someone else. Do you have any memory from your father of where this song/poem came from? By the way, my own daughter will turn 31 this next summer. Great sit, too. I just put up a site about poems my father wrote long ago. It's at: http://www.totheprairieand togod.com/
Cordially,
Kevin Gray
Paola, Kansas
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