my sister and i used to have this weird thing with wednesdays. for some reason, we both had really crappy stuff happen on this particular day. crappy stuff occurred on other days as well, but on wednesdays, something would be happening with both of us. on a weekly basis. for a really long time. it got to the point where we’d call each other each wednesday morning, commiserate, and hang up with a “happy wednesday!” it was eerie, and humorous, since it never failed that we each had some sort of shit story to share.
beyond the strange wednesday phenomenon, i haven’t really associated negative feelings with any other day of week. i mean, mondays are awful, but that doesn’t seem to be a unique sentiment. everyone seems to complain about mondays. what i’ve discovered recently, though, is that i have a hard time on weekend days when i don’t have anything specific planned, particularly sundays. the odd part of this is that i really look forward to having a WHOLE day to stay at home and play catch up. do laundry, clean out the car, take my time making meals, whatever. but when that schedule-less sunday comes, i feel lost. today was one of those days.
i woke up, thinking of all the things that i wanted to accomplish with my free day. and then the familiar feeling hit. i don’t want to do any of it. instead, i feel sluggish, or emotional, or just out of sorts. i pushed through, though, plugging away at my to-do list. i thought a lot about why i feel the way i do. and i think i finally realized why these days carry baggage: sundays, to me, bring a sense of nostalgia and mark the passage of time.
reflecting back on my childhood, i associate sundays with my father. i see him mowing the lawn, or watching patriots games, or listening to awful music at a ridiculous volume, or making our sunday dinners of burnt chicken and overcooked vegetables with lots of garlic that stunk up the house. he had an incredibly difficult job, with the most insane hours. and yet, when i think of sundays growing up, i think of him. i feel like he was around a lot on sundays. fast forward to college. i think my sundays were probably spent doing lots of schoolwork or being hungover. or both. hmmm, yes, most definitely both. as i got older, i continued the “sunday family dinner” tradition, except i tried not to overcook the veggies (but still added the garlic). after my husband and i separated, i would drop the little one off with him and his girlfriend for their sunday dinners, and i went home alone. there were many, many tears shed during that time of my life. and now. . . nowadays, sundays signify a new week, the turning of the calendar. at the core of this recognition of time passing, i realize how reluctant i am to watch my daughter grow older. and i miss my own carefree days with my Dad.
when i first realized this today, i felt foolish. linking a day of the week with my father who has died as well as my ever-growing daughter seems a bit nutty. but so what? they are my past and my future. after a lot of thought, it actually kind of makes sense that sundays at home bring up a lot of these familial ties inside of me. i want to be able to rewind time, to when my sundays with my father were taken for granted. and i want to stop time, to hold my baby girl with me, for a lifetime of sundays. but really, i wish, so very much, that it all overlapped. that he was here to overcook her vegetables covered in garlic, and we need to yell over the horrible music.
happy sunday all.