August hit today, and with it came a brand new flood of missing you. In December we always celebrated me, and then in January, I got to return the party and celebrate you. August was the best, though, because it was our month.
Every year, when August rolled around, our love just seemed to get sweeter. There was just something about knowing separately, yet uniquely together, that this month was the month that had changed everything that made us look at each other a little flirtier, a little longer, a little more deeply.
August is the month that made me your Mrs. and you, my Mr. August is the month that found us rolling around in Holy Matrimony and loving every minute of it. August is the month that found us strolling along the River Walk in San Antonio and fishing off of Padre Island. August in the month where “his and hers” took on a whole new crazy, wild, never experienced before meaning.
August was our month. The month we waited for all year long. The month in which, no matter what was happening or what day of the week it landed on, we both took time off from work on the 7th (and sometimes, even the day before and the day after) just to celebrate remembering the day we said “I do”.
It’s August 1, Handsome. August 1. What am I supposed to do with that? Soon it will be August 4 which will mark 6 months that you’ve been gone. Then, a few days beyond that, August 7, our anniversary.
All day long I wrestled with pushing aside any memories tied to this month. In fact, I fought to focus on anything but this month, but my heart wouldn’t cooperate. Somehow, this seemed to my heart to be the most disrespectful, unloving thing to do and it would have no part of it.
So, following the lead of my heart, tonight, when I should have been getting ready for bed, I was sitting in the middle of our living room floor, looking at all of our wedding pictures, wiping one tear after another after another. Oh how my heart ached. It physically ached for you, Handsome. And, I heard in the back of my mind, “You just have to ride it out, Beautiful. You just have to ride it out.”
It’s what you always said to me when I would find myself in a tight spot, in a place that made my heart hurt, in a place that was a place I had no control over.
Only tonight, riding it out didn’t sound like something I wanted to do. Not one bit. As the words kept making their way to my heart, my heart stubbornly refused to hear them, all the while shaking itself side to side as if to say “NO!”
So, hear I sit, Handsome. It’s almost midnight and I’m doing the only thing I know to do. I’m praying to our precious Heavenly Father to help me through. As I sit in the still of the night, I keep hearing His sweet Spirit saying “You just have to write it out, Stacy. You just have to write it out.”
As I type on the keyboard, I start to breathe a little easier. As I talk with The One who gave you to me, I feel a comfort and a peace that holds back my tears long enough to type without blurry vision or a wet keyboard. As I reminisce about our month, a bittersweet joy starts to emerge from the overwhelming sorrow.
And I look at this photo and I realize more than ever how very blessed I am.
And, I was loved. (Oh, how you loved me.)
This will always be true no matter what is happening – whether it’s August or not, whether it’s the day of our anniversary or not, whether you are here or not.
I loved you.
You loved me.
Always and forever.
If only I could feel your hand in mine again. If only I could feel the gentle brush of your lips on my skin. If only I could tell you just once more how proud I am to be your wife, to be your Mrs., to wear your name, to have shared your life.
If only I could, Handsome. If only I could.