THE MERRY MONTH

I used to think that May was out to get me.

Yes, the month. That little three-letter month. That tiny auxiliary masquerading as a month.

May had taken my father, on its 18th day. A few years later, it took his mother, on a day I don’t recall.

My brother was born on its 20th day, under one of its little dark clouds.

But then I met Taeko, born May 7, and my opinion began to change. The dread that I typically felt at its approach abated, and by the time Lana was born on its 30th day, I had developed a layered, complicated relationship with the month.

And now I finally understand the lesson here: May is life.