Will September Always Be a Struggle?

It occurred to me later that throughout his entire illness, I had never really considered that he might die, up to and including the day that he did. We agreed when he was diagnosed that we would face whatever came our way as positively as possible. He was a problem solver and could not stand hand-wringing and dancing around things. He preferred to be direct and to control what was controllable. And we could control our attitudes.

Our family motto has always been “Forever forward,” and we resolved that we would approach his leukemia the same way. I stuck to that as he got sicker after the transplant, even knowing that the rare complication he had, veno-occlusive disease, was fatal nearly 80 percent of the time in transplant patients, according to the National Institutes of Health.

I’ve tried hard to apply the “Forever forward” philosophy to my and our sons’ lives since losing Ethan. He made it clear to me even before he got sick that a bigger tragedy than his dying would be us allowing his death to ruin our lives. But I’m having a hard time doing that as September arrives.

I think that subconsciously I’ve been stacking my work calendar to keep myself distracted and busy for the month. I have two trips scheduled ­— two events I’ve been planning for most of the year in two cities in the span of three days — and my team is planning and hosting a two-day conference later in the month. My work requires a high level of engagement with a wide variety of people, and when I am in that zone, I can’t be all up in my feelings. Staying busy only goes so far, though.

That’s probably why, outside of work, I’ve found myself turning inward more lately.

It’s difficult to explain the confluence of feelings I’m experiencing as these most unwelcome anniversaries approach: guilt for making the decision to discontinue Ethan’s life support when it was apparent that he would not survive, for having the audacity to continue living and, sometimes, laughing; grief, not just for my loss but for our sons and the life I thought I would have; anger, so much anger, that people just continue to go about their lives as if my husband never existed, as if the world hasn’t been robbed of an amazing human, and that there are terrible people who get sick and survive every day, but for some reason, my husband did not; fear that I’ll get sick and will have no one to care for me, that my children will be orphaned, and that even though we were told Ethan’s leukemia wasn’t genetic, my kids will get it too; apprehension about my ability to keep our family afloat, given the fact that my husband was our primary breadwinner, and for what the second year of widowhood brings — it’s been said it’s harder than the first.

Finally, I feel such sadness, because for the first time in the 28 years, September 3, the day I met my husband, won’t be a happy day but one that I'll struggle just to get through.

The big questions: Will I always dread September? Will it always feel like an annual countdown to a month of renewed trauma and grief? Will it ever get any easier? For the answer, I turn to another poet with the initials T.S. — Taylor Swift. Her song “Innocent” — which, according to my Swiftie nail technician and multiple Reddits, was inspired by Ye (formerly Kanye West), specifically his interruption of her acceptance speech at the 2009 MTV Video Music Awards — has a whiff of forgiveness in it. The lines “Time turns flames into embers / you’ll have new Septembers” imply that with time, what once felt raw and overwhelming will eventually scar over.

I really hope she’s right.

AARP essays share a point of view in the author’s voice, drawn from expertise or experience, and do not necessarily reflect the views of AARP.