The Eighth Month of the Year

August is a really hard month for me. I grew up going to the state of Washington with my dad almost every summer, I loved it there. I got freedom most kids only dream of, it was heaven. From the age of six to fifteen, I spent summers there, in a wonderful little town called Morton. This rain soaked town had one grocery store, two resteraunts, and one bar. It was perfect. The river that ran through the town was excellent for swimming, all of the kids who grew up there knew of the wonderful rope swing and mellow rapids. Rocks and boulders covered the banks of the Tilton River, and there was a small park nearby as well. This is the kind of town you read about in books. Spiffy's had the world's best burgers, and ice cream. There was a video store and a thrift store, I mean all these quaint little things that you can't quite picture if you've never been there. That was August to me. August filled with the smell of rain and the tastes of freedom at the age of fifteen. 


However, on my way home from my summer vacation at the age of fifteen, tragedy struck. As my best friend, Candace, my father and I drove home from Lewis County Washington to L.A. California, my dad got tired. We pulled over just next to Lake Shasta. My dad exclaimed that he had never been there and I suggested we swim, seeing as how it was nearly 100 degrees outside. He agreed, and though Candace stayed in the car, he and I walked down the steep shore of rocks, to the mucky, but oddly refreshing looking water. We both jumped in, but only one of us came out. After I realized my father wasn't resurfacing, I ran up the side of the Lake and called the police.


After that day August was nothing but pain for me. I can hardly bear to see "August 31st" on a calendar. I miss my dad. He gave me the world, as best he could. I think the hardest part for me is just the fact that everyone seems to remember him around this time of year, understandably, and they wish me well, or ask refresher questions...I can't handle those questions. I sound so calculated answering, so cold. I don't mean to be, it's just hard to try to put the right emotion into explain the way your father died right in front of you. Anyway, I just wish August could be my favorite month again, but I guess it will always be our month, dad and I, a month together away from what seemed like "the real world".