I sometimes think that the other months were constituted mainly as a fitting interlude between Octobers. – Aldo Leopold
There are many odes to October out there. It’s the most loveable month — for the scarves, the pumpkins, the pumpkin alcohol, the cuddly times with cuddly people. My girl June learned to roll over this (her fourth) month. My boy Chris turned 29.
But something about 2013 has made this time around a doozy. And every time I think the dooze will give us a break, it gets doozier. I’m back in school — briefly. Chris moved to Antarctica and then came back from Antarctica and then almost left again. We talked job shifts. We talked house shifts. We talked finances (or lack thereof) after the big Iceland trip. We came to some conclusions and felt better.
And then this week, a truck with the first frost of October clouding his windows pulled out in front of me on the way to work and we crashed. In a big way. Twisted metal and air bag smoke and one minute the front of my car was there and the next it wasn’t. And suddenly it mattered a lot that Chris was sent back to Iowa, and a lot less what happens next as long as I’m OK and we’re OK. And PSA: It matters a lot that you completely defrost the windows of your car in the morning. OK?
C made me soup and bought me a rootbeer for lunch. He’s chauffeured me to work. He’s talked to my boss and my parents and in countless other little ways saved my life (halfsies on that with the airbag — shout out to the Nissan Versa collision system). It’s going to be alright. And it can only get easier in November. I think.