I Hate September.

September, again.   The month that took my son away from me.  The month that takes the grief that I keep hidden 11 months of the year and flings it out from hiding, tossing it around until I break down and acknowledge the fact that I am not really "handling" it as well as those would like.  You know the ones that have never lost a child.   They expect you to "get over it", "move on", "he is in a better place", all the things they tell you so that they themselves can be comfortable and happy and not have to deal with others grief.


So in September, I grieve.  Openly.  Loudly.  Without apologies.  


Deal with it.