September 2 of last year is when it all started, or when it all ended, I guess. That’s the day my husband made his last decision here on this earth. The SECOND….the second of September. For days, into weeks, I would stare at the date on the calendar, trying to comprehend how everything in my world had changed on that single day. I laid in bed one night and figured out that, as of September 2, 2017, I had lived 17,005 days (you have time to figure things like this in your head when you don’t sleep….) But that one day, the second of September, it all changed in a way no one can prepare for.
I’m one of those people who never know the date…I’m always having to check my phone or ask someone….but I know when it’s the second day of every month. It’s an anniversary of sorts, and a reminder that I’ve survived another month. I’ve grown one month stronger. I’ve watched my daughter grow another month. The morning of the second, every month since last September, I’ve woken up thinking “it’s the second day of the month”…..every single month, like an alarm clock. I think it’s a God thing.
It took me a few months to realize what God was doing. It was January 2 when it hit me. I went to bed the night before, after gorging on our typical collard greens and black eyed peas feast for New Years Day, feeling very blah–due to the fact that we had to return to school the next day (after a glorious two week Christmas break). I couldn’t sleep, which wasn’t uncommon at all, and tried to find distraction in a good book. I happened to look up at the digital clock beside my bed at the instant it changed from 11:59pm to 12:00 am. I won’t digress into the fact that I actually keep that clock set 10 minutes fast, for that would just ruin my nice little story. In MY head, it had just struck midnight, though the rest of the world had 10 minutes of the day left.
At that moment, I felt something. Not a dread of knowing the alarm would be going off a mere six hours later….but a sense of peace. And, of course, the immediate reminder in my head that it was now the second day of the month. I felt encouraged, renewed, and immediately started thinking of something fun I could do with my daughter after work that day.
The next month, on February second, it was my Grandfathers birthday–though he’s been in heaven a few years now, we still celebrate him. It was a Friday, and Groundhog Day. I was doing a special activity that morning with a group of kids–we were making bird feeders for our school’s garden, and I remember a little boy sitting beside me as we rolled our peanut butter covered paper towel rolls in bird seed. He said, “this is going to be the best day ever for all the birds around here!” His excitement brought tears to my eyes. It was a good day. It was the second day of the month.
The next month, on March 2, I was asked to visit a first grade class at my school and read “Horton Hears a Who” to them. It was a simple task, the typical scene of me sitting in a chair with the kids gathered around my feet. Nothing spectacular happened, everyone behaved and seemed to enjoy the story. But there was just something about their attentive eyes, and their excitement about finding out what happened on the next page that hit me hard. I walked out of Mrs. Smith’s classroom, into the nearest restroom, and I cried. I had no idea at that time why I was crying….and at first I assumed it was hormones and the general exhaustion that any teacher is feeling by March of each school year. But then I realized, it was a happy cry. Just a random, happy “I’m just thankful to be here” kind of cry.
The following months of April and May, I woke up on the second immediately aware of the date, and thankful. Just thankful for everything. Even the pain I’d endured over the previous months–because I know it’s made me strong. I know this, because by this point, I had started keeping a calendar of “the seconds”–just to keep track.
On June 2nd, the sun came out. School had ended, and it was officially summertime, but it had rained for nine days straight. The lake was at a record breaking high, rivers were flooding, houses were damaged, and we all felt like we were going to mold. I woke up on June 2nd to sunshine. I gathered up my girl and my lake bag, and we celebrated summer all day. As we sat down at the dock, Ella was actually the one who mentioned the date. I saw her counting on her fingers, rattling off months, before she looked at me and said “it’s been nine months today.” It was the first time she’d ever mentioned the “anniversary” of that day. After talking for a while, I shared with her how I actually thought about it every month, but in a way differently than she might expect. I told her how I had noticed that the second day of each month had been special in some way, and that I believed it was God helping me, making sure I didn’t brood on the date, but be thankful for our healing. She looked at me with those dark brown eyes and said “He’s making sure you LIVE EVERY SECOND.”
LIVE EVERY SECOND.
I cried, she hugged me, she told me she loved me, and we went about our day. The second day of the month.
In a few days, on July 2nd, it will be my birthday. It would have also been my 17th wedding anniversary. I bet it’s going to be a good day (though I’m not at all thrilled to be turning 49). But if it’s not, I’m going to live every second of it anyway.
LIVE EVERY SECOND. How about that?
Kickin' & Screamin' 