The Augusts of My Life
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I was born in August, and the month was always a joyous time during my childhood. Every year I looked forward to wonderful festivities.
When I was eight, I spent a fun-filled summer in Germantown, Ohio, United States of America, chasing cows while visiting the Taylor and Wright families.
I was afraid to fly home to Newark, New Jersey, so my parents arranged a train ride for me. Looking out the window as the train rumbled from the countryside into the city and going to the dining car was such a treat! An angel disguised as a woman sat and talked with me throughout the entire trip. When I arrived home, the dining room table was decorated for my birthday celebration. It is one of my best birthday memories.
As an adult, however, the month of August has brought many sad and painful memories. I lost both of my parents, six years apart, in August. “It’s me and You, Jesus,” I said after my mom’s death. Despite the pain, my relationship with Christ Jesus grew stronger. Then, on August 1, 2011, I lost my son to suicide. No parent should ever experience such indescribable pain. As I grieved, I knew I needed God more than ever. Thank goodness, my daughter, friends, and family provided hugs and listening ears—when I felt like talking.
For consolation and self-care, I am usually out of town visiting family on August 1. This year was no exception. An extended family member was expecting her sixth grandchild on July 29. When the grandmother and I visited the past-due expectant mom, I hugged her tummy and said, “Aunt Mari is here now.” That night the dad called to say they were heading to the hospital. On August 1, 2022, their beautiful baby girl made her entrance into the world.
I shed tears of joy for this memorable gift! My daughter said, “It is time to move from the grief and enjoy the new life that has been given to us.” August 1 will always be a day of memories and a time for new beginnings.
Marialyce Fordham
