It’s September. I wouldn’t need to look at a calendar to know that. I can feel it ache in my bones. A buzzing in my nerves and a thudding in my brain. September has haunted the last couple months. September carries the weight of the year.

All the lasts were in September. The last full family trip to Table Rock, Deacon’s last birthday on earth, his last first day of school, the last time I brushed his hair off his forehead, the last time I heard his voice, the last time I hugged him, smelled him, felt him, talked to him. The last time I told him I loved him.

All the lasts spill into all the firsts. Our first minutes, hours, and days without him. Every first holiday, birthday, and milestone lived without him here. The first season of baseball he didn’t get to suit up for. The first foster care placements he didn’t get to hold and feed. The first day of second grade he didn’t clamber out of the car for. The first day of the new house starting that he didn’t get to ride in the excavator and help dig.

A whole year of surviving the firsts while reliving the lasts has been building to this month. I’ve been quiet, in this space. In truth, the summer was hard. Harder than I’d prepared myself for. Typically my favorite of the seasons, this one felt like a trudge. Summers are for traditions. Pools, library, splash park, snow cones, and bike rides. Doing it all without Deacon felt flat. But fighting to live and give life to my four still-here kids meant putting a smile on my face while tears fell behind sunglasses. The memories that popped up throughout the summer and made us laugh also fell away to the emptiness in knowing there won’t be any new memories to laugh about. The upkeep of house and family and constant kids with constant new ideas of what we should do that day felt like treading in deep water…just trying to keep my head above. In the midst of hard, I tried to stay in tune to God’s gifts. The surprise meal on an especially hard day. The sweet three day old baby needing our love for a couple days. The song on the radio reminding me of God’s goodness. His little “I see you’s” that felt like a deep breath after days of shallow breathing. The days were hard. And sad. And beautiful. And filled with gratitude. And that pendulum of extreme emotions left me overstimulated and exhausted and sad. So the blog went quiet. I still wrote, but they were writings for me. Writings for God. Writings for Deacon. And sometimes I just sat quietly with my words. And, as it does, time moved forward and we’re here to September.

Derek and I have talked about what this month might look and feel like. How to prepare ourselves and our kids for it. What would honoring the last days of Deacon’s life look like? In truth, we don’t know and we won’t know until we’ve moved through it. A year of surviving the firsts has taught me that trying to prepare for it is pointless. I do know that I want to celebrate the parts of Deacon that I admired the most. And to embrace and radiate those qualities. So, I’ll be brave. And inclusive. And fiercely loving.

Almost a year closer to you, brave boy.