From making pancakes for breakfast to sleeping in; or washing the bed sheets, watching television, or finally crossing something off that To-Do list - Sundays in our home were the best thing since sliced bread.
I used to love laying in on Sundays - just the two of us. We've become used to the mattress we bought last year. It isn't soft and it isn't too firm... Imagine you really are a piece of sweet, delicious bread in between a series of thin filaments connected together but spaced widely enough apart to evenly toast you...
There isn't anything quite like Sunday mornings...
Watching
Reading
Writing
Cooking
Cleaning
Talking
Typing
or simply, scrolling.
For a while now, I can't remember the last time since the start of the 2020 global pandemic, we actually felt at ease on a Sunday morning. Instead of feeling serene I find myself wondering what to tackle first, on my second day off during the week. Like the rest of the retail world, my husband works on Saturdays. They're usually the day I keep to myself, whether that's relaxing and pampering or cleaning the house. Sometimes I'll have made a plan to meet a friend for coffee or lunch but this is all before the COVID-19 pandemic. Today I find myself lurching from drive home to alarm clock and back again.
And this Sunday is a lot different than any of the Sundays - even before. It's sombre and it's hard for me to say what I feel, but on Thursday night I found out awful and tragic news. My initial response was shock, as any normal person might find following a death. I haven't met this person but it's still distressing. What made it even more emotional was that I knew I'd have to be the one to pass on this sadness, and share what I had learned with someone else. A girlfriend of mine who did know this woman, and who had shared many meals, laughs and struggles in the past.
Death is the saddest part of life as we know it.
You don't know where you're gonna go.
I hope you go some place fucking amazing. Truly out of this world and alarming (in a good way).
People who die get to live forever in the memories of those who knew and loved them - the people they leave behind. Some leave behind generations and others their sound, visuals, or words.
I used to love laying in on Sundays - just the two of us. We've become used to the mattress we bought last year. It isn't soft and it isn't too firm... Imagine you really are a piece of sweet, delicious bread in between a series of thin filaments connected together but spaced widely enough apart to evenly toast you...
There isn't anything quite like Sunday mornings...
Watching
Reading
Writing
Cooking
Cleaning
Talking
Typing
or simply, scrolling.
For a while now, I can't remember the last time since the start of the 2020 global pandemic, we actually felt at ease on a Sunday morning. Instead of feeling serene I find myself wondering what to tackle first, on my second day off during the week. Like the rest of the retail world, my husband works on Saturdays. They're usually the day I keep to myself, whether that's relaxing and pampering or cleaning the house. Sometimes I'll have made a plan to meet a friend for coffee or lunch but this is all before the COVID-19 pandemic. Today I find myself lurching from drive home to alarm clock and back again.
And this Sunday is a lot different than any of the Sundays - even before. It's sombre and it's hard for me to say what I feel, but on Thursday night I found out awful and tragic news. My initial response was shock, as any normal person might find following a death. I haven't met this person but it's still distressing. What made it even more emotional was that I knew I'd have to be the one to pass on this sadness, and share what I had learned with someone else. A girlfriend of mine who did know this woman, and who had shared many meals, laughs and struggles in the past.
Death is the saddest part of life as we know it.
You don't know where you're gonna go.
I hope you go some place fucking amazing. Truly out of this world and alarming (in a good way).
People who die get to live forever in the memories of those who knew and loved them - the people they leave behind. Some leave behind generations and others their sound, visuals, or words.
Mary Ann Evans wrote, "Our dead are never dead to us, until we have forgotten them." as George Eliot.
Dry yet somehow pulpy. Losing a loved one, and when it's your parent it's a sadness like a blunt axe; failing to pierce a rotund block of wood. Instead it chips away, achingly, sliver by sliver, delivering in return a messy, ragged, broken up piece of nature. Wide open and raw. When you learn of a death unexpectedly it can feel as if fragments of your heart are shriveling up and flaking off one by one.
How can we learn about death and dying if we don't experience it?
The truth is: we can't.
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