Dear Day of the year
It’s January the 2nd… A strange day. We’ve just edged and nudged our way into another New Year.
It is a date that some of us will recognise and remember. And a few of us will think back to other anniversaries on this day…
Today is my mother’s birthday. My mother isn’t here in body any more, but the day has returned, regardless, and is here again. An ‘is’, not a was…
So it’s time for some nostalgia, of birthdays past… This day was the elongating and ending of the Christmas and New Year season, starting with my brother’s birthday on 24 December and ending, neatly here on the second day of the New Year. A time for more treats and final feasting before returning to reality.
My New Year, thin me dietary good intentions, as a result, always start on the 3rd of January… And to honour my mother and demarcate the date, I still celebrate this day and smile and treat and feast again.
Today is not a sad day, it is instead warm and easy, because today was, for along while of my life, a day of celebration…
My mother loved treats and as they gave her pleasure, after my father was gone – my brother and I were happy to make her happy.
So together we saw shows, soaked in spas, ate fine meals and gadded gently about.
And now she is gone I see no reason to stop all that. Today has come round again and it is therefore time to celebrate – again. A treat here, a feast there, some smiles and the languid remembrance of birthdays past and lived full out. Days where we chose to enjoy ourselves, to do something fabulous, and to be together to seize that day.
I’m so glad we seized those birthday days, to have stored up a cache of memories that I can take out and polish and love through again. And life being what it is and mother being who she was, they weren’t perfect times and yet, on this day, why would I do anything other than feel and think about the best of those times? Yes, this is most definitely a day upon which I can choose to love…
On Christmas Eve, my brother and I were walking along, taking a well worn route to celebrate his birthday, when he asked me how many Christmases it had now been without our mother. (He knows that I know and measure these things). And I replied that it was the third year. He took this information in with a tiny shock, since no matter how long we travel through it, time never seems to cease to amaze us by its’ constant movement onward and forward.
He said that he missed her and I understood, because I felt the same, yet there the fact was and still we carried on walking. Soon we reached our destination, that day without her, and yet as we walked, talked and remembered, she was there too – in us, in memories, words, in actions – imprinted.
So back to today… Here marks the end of the bandwidth of my Christmas celebrations. From this point I will start to slowly tune out of this dreamy mode where I hear Christmas loud and clear, through the crackle and hiss of time, of movement and find my way, with clear sound into the next chapter of my life.
I’ve prepared, partied and am now peaceful… Another year in the life, another day lived and celebrated, chosen and cherished to its’ close. And what is wonderful is that I know that so much of the time I can chose more joy, see the best in what is, and learn the lessons lent to me. On even greater days I get to share these lessons too.
And it’s farewell now to this day and still, this day will come again.
Happy Birthday Mum.