I started my actual blog post tonight on death and dying*. This is the title of an actual course offered to fulfill a sociology credit I needed in college. I skipped it and opted for “Marriage and Family” instead which I ruefully admit, I earned a “D” in because I missed my final exam for the class. (I currently take part in both a marriage and a family so I feel like I am doing acceptably in the Humanities section of actual life). But I couldn’t think of a single person who needed to think a little more about death or dying this year.
What the heck happened this year? It’s the last week (just a few days left) and I feel like I am hungover and trying to piece the events back together while desperately searching for both my handbag and my other shoe. I remember crossing over the bridge with my girls on a walk to usher in the sunrise of a new year twelve months ago. There was a thin film of fog wrapping around everything we could see and the sky was lit in soft blues and grays that gave way to purples, pinks, oranges and finally yellow. It was so beautiful and peaceful that I stopped to take a picture in case I forgot it one day.
We walked across and I made all the same promises that you make on New Year’s Day, I would run that ten miles this year (check) and I would lose those last 15-20 pounds (only 35 to go!) and on and on I went. But more than anything else I felt grateful to be there, that very moment with those very people, waiting for my husband to get off shift and come home to us. This year had its ups and downs but I am going out with the same spirit of thanks, grateful that I get another chance each day to try my best. I can only hope that I am actually living the way I am dreaming – purposefully and hopefully, one day at a time.