SEPTEMBER

SEPTEMBER

Twilight Zone - Ariana Grande

“Did I dream the whole thing?
Was I just a nightmare?
Different dimensions,
Stuck in the Twilight Zone.”

September arrived carrying contradiction—grief and grace colliding in the same breath. It marked the fifth death anniversary of my mother, a wound that time never truly closes. In that weight, I questioned reality itself, wondering if everything I had endured was only a dream, or worse, a nightmare I could not wake from. The months before had distorted my sense of self so deeply that even truth felt unreal.

Yet, something shifted. For the first time after so long, I was finally given a chance to communicate—to speak, to be heard, to engage in real dialogue. That moment came unexpectedly, almost gently, just a day after I received the face-to-face Sacrament of Reconciliation once again. It felt like timing touched by grace, as if the blockage that had long held me back was finally cracked open, allowing God’s presence to move freely through my brokenness.

September also carried a literal crossing: my first time traveling by plane. In unfamiliar skies and unfamiliar places, I experienced care I did not expect. It didn’t erase the pain or undo the past, but it softened something hardened inside me. The distance—physical and emotional—helped mend gaps I didn’t know how to reach on my own.

Everything happened quickly, almost overwhelmingly so. In the quiet that followed, I began to reconsider myself—not with denial, but with acceptance. Acceptance of what was lost, what could not be changed, and what still remained. September did not bring full healing, but it reminded me that even after grief, confusion, and silence, grace can still arrive—sudden, undeserved, and real.