Sunday Scribblings: The Date

I don't know exactly what date it was when my husband left me. Strange to say, I think I know, I can surmise, but as I wasn't at home at the time, I can only assume he left the day I was returning from a weekend away. Otherwise, he'd have been leaving our 16-year-old son alone in the house, and he wouldn't have done that. It was enough that he left him to say "Dad's moved into his new place". I imagine the thinking behind that was that he was sparing me the sight of him walking out the door with a suitcase; sparing himself whatever it might have cost to say "Goodbye".

I know the date we decided to part. I thought it would be engraved in my memory forever, but last year, the day passed, and it was close on midnight when I paused and said "Oh, yeah... this was the day...."

I know the date of the second-last time we made love. The last time... there's an approximate location in time. It could even be today, 13th January. But now, since our parting, this date has become the anniversary of his father's death.

I know the date on which we first met. My first day in a new job. I know the date of our first date. I know the date on which our son was conceived, the date on which it seemed I was about to lose that precious little blob of cells, the date on which I finally realised that he had held on, that he was clinging inside me for another while longer.

I know the date on which my son was due to be born, and that he decided to arrive two days early. He's never liked to wait for anything. Fast food is never fast enough. Buses are too slow. What puts him off travelling is not the distance. It's the time.

I carry dates with me in a fairly sloppy mental roll-call. Birthdays, anniversaries, first-times, last-times. I carry approximate dates, connecting two people with birthdays in the same week in my mind, perhaps confusing which order they come in. My year comes to points of notice, times when I feel a date so significant is going to be really meaningful, and then, the day might pass like any other.

This year, I believe I've passed the watershed of pain, that I will be able to face the 25th anniversary of my wedding without bemoaning the absence of silver-edged cards, or special romantic outings and trips. That date has now become another anniversary. - The long-longed-for child that my cousin and his wife will be adopting was born on that date last year.

Dates become transformed. My calendar fills up with notations of meetings, gatherings, events to be marked. Days pass, the year turns, and the next day begins again and again, anew.
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If you would like to read what other people had to say about "Dates" go look at Sunday Scribblings. Thanks for stopping by.