I never have to look at the calendar around this time of year.
I FEEL August.
It sits on my shoulders and tightens itself around my neck.
It creeps into my chest and pulls on my heart strings.
It clouds my eyes with tear drops.
It’s August. The yellowed pages of my 2008 calendar tell me he was beginning the final phase of life. His cancer had moved to places, not even he could stop.
Everything is harder in August.