I flipped the page and stared at that word.

As I flipped the page of a calendar on the fridge, I stared at that word, pausing to feel all that it represents. August. My throat constricted and my stomach clenched. I used to dread August because I have lost eight loved ones over the years in this month.

In the last five years, I’ve decided to rewrite the narrative to make it about choosing life and being present.

So, I journaled and tried to make sense of the sadness that confused me. The “shoulds” began pelleting my brain. Shouldn’t I be grateful for lounging on the couch, binge watching shows and laughing at my kids’ hilarious commentary? Shouldn’t I be joyful as I reflect on our family trips? Shouldn’t I be excited as they start new school years? Shouldn’t I be thrilled to witness their growth, deeper connections with themselves and each other?

I could fill an entire notebook with the shoulds, self-pressure to react a particular way that may or may not be expected. A total waste of time. And unkind to myself. I ripped out the page after realizing the judgment and lit it on fire. Releasing old, fearful energy as the paper crackled and became ashes. I visualized the transmutation of my emotions.

Pivoting to a different perspective, I thought about hellos and goodbyes. Since August 15, 1999 (I’ll share about that next week), this month has been triggering. Then last year, our eldest fur baby transitioned over the rainbow. My body would react as July ended; dreams intensified and anxiety peaked. I’d find myself worrying as if preparing for the next phone call or death.

Then in 2017, I made a conscious choice to reframe, renew, and revisit how I would choose to live.
I “birthed” Every Soul Has a Story in August. This is the five-year anniversary of what began as a blog and has expanded to a podcast, connective community, and more. Rainbows filled the first website, and as I’ve evolved, so has the rainbow that is still there.

Speaking of births, my daughter was born in August. Our puppy, Auggie, arrived in August (hence her name). My best friend, aunt, and others were born in August. As I’m writing, it hit me that the number eight, when turned sideways, symbolizes infinity.

What if August is AWE-gust? What if it’s a month of infinite possibilities? A time for reflection, a time to reevaluate intentions for the rest of 2022.

Last night, I welled with pride and a tear trickled down my face. I hugged Todd, thanking him for making dinner and telling him how much I’d miss him when he heads back to college. And how excited and happy I am for him because he’s loving where he is. Frank Sinatra’s voice crooned, “I’ll Do It My Way” from the black, cylinder speaker. I looked into Todd’s eyes, so similar to my own, and smiled. He chose this song. (A twenty-year-old whose playlist includes Bruno Mars, Maroon 5, rap music, and Sinatra? Proud mom moment.)

Maybe it’s a message for us all. We can let the past pull us into an abyss of apprehension. Or, do life differently and change the narrative.


As always, I would love if you’d answer these questions.

Am I the only one who feels like summer is suddenly ending?
How do you feel when you say goodbye to a season or a soul?
Does a certain month hold meaning for you and why?