I am a woman who loves fresh starts and new beginnings. I create lists. I have mastered the art of making (not necessarily keeping) New Year’s resolutions. I believe that the next page is full of possibilities.
But, for me, the celebration of a new year is no longer very celebratory. Don’t get me wrong. I had a great time playing dominoes with family and friends. We ate finger foods and desserts and laughed. Yet, on the way home, way before midnight, I struggled not to break out in tears, and Auld Lang Syne had not even begun to play.
My husband asked me why I was mad. I wasn’t mad. I was melancholy, and I couldn’t put my thoughts together to really understand why.
I guess the easy answer would be Brandon. It always comes back to that, doesn’t it? A significant loss is bound to make a person sad, even four years after the fact. However, I wasn’t particularly thinking of Brandon.
Maybe it’s this time of life.
Gone are the childhood days of hopeful anticipation, the wonder of growing, the excitement that comes with holidays and birthdays, and even the nervous anticipation of new activities and studying for a spelling test.
Behind me are the years of figuring it all out, the teenage years of angst and puppy love, prom dresses and formals, term papers, college projects, and career decisions, new explorations and friendships and forging my independence.
The relationship years are quickly becoming a memory. The days of wedding planning and house hunting and learning how to be a wife and mother. The long nights of rocking babies and wiping bottoms and teaching and cheering at ballgames and carpooling kids from one activity to the next, of helping and caring and holding.
I wonder what stage of life I am in now. Children grow up, get married, move out, move away. Parents grow old, get sick, and need help. Friends grow distant. We bury the ones we love. Are these the years of loss?
The sky is gray on this first morning of January 2023. In literature the weather often mimics the tone of the scene. Yet I am reminded of Hebrews 11:1, “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” Each day, each year, carries its own share of blessings and burdens, and even when the sky is overcast, the Son is still there.