365 Days

Another postcard from the land of grief

If I am going to be living in this foreign land for some time, then I shall need a calendar. In fact, I already have two – one fat and one thin. The days and dates here are the same as anywhere. There are 365 of them, and they will roll from Spring, to Summer, to Autumn, to Winter, with no respect nor pause for sorrow.

Living in a foreign land, though, I am likely to find that the calendar  ‘milestones’ are different – a bit like those foreign bank holidays which commemorate some political figure of whom you have never heard.

Unmarked on any calendar which I can buy here are the anniversaries marked in the heart. They are the anniversaries of engagement, of holidays, of moving here or starting there …and even of diagnoses. I could mark these on any calendar in any colour – red, black or blue, but in truth they are marked indelibly on the heart.

More important, then, to mark some new things on the new calendars. I need to write there the things that are done in this foreign land. Where will I go? What dates will I circle with new memories for the calendars of 2019 and beyond? Right now, that particular pen is too heavy to pick up. The time will come, though, I am sure.  Back where I used to live, I learnt a song when I first embarked on the journey of faith ‘I know who holds the future, and he’ll guide me with his hand’. 

I might just hum it to myself as I fix the calendars up…

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