Today was blessedly not one of those memorable days. Two months or two years from now, I likely will not remember all that happened today. And that's no slight to those we dearly love with whom we spent the day. Rather, it is precisely the kind of day to spend on a beautiful September weekend.
Church. Picnic for Chase's work. Abbreviated naps. Quick convertible ride for the kids. Birthday party for one of the kid's friends. Going away party for one of mine. Cousin sleepover at grandmas.
It was a day stuffed full of wonderful things. A day that is normal. The usual. Life. Our life that we are so very blessed and lucky to be living.
A gift, this forgettable day.
I wish all of the beautiful September days in my life were so forgettable.
But there was that one. That beautiful one. Sunny. Clear. Warm but crisp in the early day. Perfect.
Except for that moment when the world changed.
Seventeen years ago, time on this earth stopped for one, and it changed everything for me. I write about it every year, and probably forever will.
It's strange to pass this day now. I don't celebrate that he's gone, but I'm thrilled to be passing the 17th such anniversary day and not the 1st or the 5th or the 15th. Each September 18th passed is another anniversary of that horribly memorable day closer to the other side. And the other side is a thing to anticipate with great expectation.
In 10 days we will celebrate Lily's 5th birthday, and the 35th birthday of this little one:
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| My older brother, Chet, age 6 months. He died on Sept 18, 1999, 10 days shy of his 18th birthday. Except for the fact that it was the worst, most memorable day of my life, it was a perfect September day. |
The quiet celebration of his birthday will happen under the radar as the jubilee of a little girl's 5th year is celebrated. Though he is gone, still his birthday celebration lives on in the life of his niece, born 30 years after his own birth. In light of that, it's hard to not over-do the celebration. Life is so very worth celebrating!
I wish she could know him. I wish I could know his 35 year old self. But that was never to be, it seems.
And so I'm glad today is over. Forgettably over. These days I feel like we work so hard to remember everything - capture it to post it on Facebook or Instagram. We Snapchat or Tweet about it, and try to emphasize the memorable dailiness of life.
But someday when I can't remember exactly what these days with littles were like, when I'm older than I am now (even next week when I can't remember what I did only a week earlier!) I hope I remember that forgettable days have their own charm and blessing. I want to remember that the forgettable days are often the most perfect.
May every day henceforth be precisely as forgettable as this one was.
