366 Days

The 366^th day of the year.

Yep, it was a leap year, though I forgot that until I just looked it up.

There is much else that I already don’t remember about the year: unremarkable sunsets and half moons, the tunes I listened to as I cooked dinner, the meals we ate, yawns and sneezes, happy hours and morning tea, the days I was energized and those I was lazy, the emails I received, and the some of the notes I sent. So many little things that slip by barely noticed and never remembered.

But I do remember the pain of my family as they said goodbye to Grandpa/Dad/Billy. And the joy around the table, after the memorial service, where the cousins reunited and laughed.

I remember the hustle of getting a condo ready for my mother-in-law as she started a new chapter near us. I remember making her favorite ‘blueberry mule’ on her new back porch, and then the morning she broke her hip, and the surgeries, and the nights at the hospital, and the rehab, and getting her settled in her assisted living apartment.

I remember a few date nights, and lazy Saturday mornings, a family movie afternoon, and time with old and good friends, but not nearly enough of any of those this year.

There was a brief trip to a new spot in the mountains in the heat of June. I remember it rained, and we needed that sound on the camper roof, and the moment of rest.

I remember sharp disappointments. Opportunities not mine, it turned out.

At the beach: dozens of osprey fishing. At the house: two cedar waxwings in the poplar tree, the first hummingbird of the season. In the hills: a bear’s butt disappearing in the brush, speedy salamanders, and the genuine thrill of finding bobcat scat.

One winter morning, the ease and quiet joy of a chat over a cup of coffee became treasured new friendship. And then I was meeting friends of friends that quickly became simply, friends.

And something that was never on my list in years past became suddenly my most essential community and place of reconnection – to self and spirit and purpose and people. I joined a church. A real one. Stone. With a bell tower and everything.

I remember a hurricane and its rain: peaceful, sparkling rivers I have sat by and waded in that rose to wash away whole towns I love, along with the homes of dear friends. I remember the horror as I watched footage of thick, brown water upend the lives of many, many neighbors across this region I call home. I remember first seeing the destruction in person, and then watching geese quietly floating in the still muddy river.

What a tragic, inspiring, loving, frightening, sad, moving, sweet, difficult, funny, and beautiful 366 days.

As the year comes to a close, those new friends are texting me, and I will be over at the church this evening to help with a thing, and my mother-in-law will come over tomorrow for lunch. I now wade through the silt those rivers left in the streets and help to coordinate assistance and funding for those whose losses are unimaginable.

Mainly though, I hope I can simply share a bit of the grace and humanity and healing I have been so incredibly fortunate to receive – and remember - myself this year.

The only thing I know for sure about the next year is that there will be more love and loss and tears and smiles. I know it will have 365 days.

And I look forward to the first hummingbird again.