As we linger through the last few days of the year, dangling quietly in the in-between, I had the chance to stop and consider what this last year had meant to me. All the years, really, that lead to this ever moving point in time. What struck me was one lucid thought, which was that it was a pretty good year. And if I zoom out, a good life.
My children are healthy. They live in a safe, warm home. They are well fed, educated, they have lots of friends and laughter in their life. They are loved endlessly by those around them, most especially by their parents. We’ve happily dedicated our entire lives to them, and rightfully so. The days are filled with kisses and cuddles and tears and screaming and whining and crying and laughing and smiling. Their fears are mostly to do with Alexa (she creeps my youngest out) and trying to cross the monkey bars. It’s loud and quiet and thrumming with life. It’s not easy, but for me, the challenge is where fulfilment is found.
I am, for the most part, still a working machine. Years of health privilege blinded me from the need for upkeep, but I have all my working limbs and organs that have put up with me for all these years. These last 7 years haven’t involved much sleep so I am grateful to my body for the patience. It has decided to stubbornly hang on to an extra 20 pounds for some reason but as my father used to say, don’t sweat the small stuff. Thanks body, I promise to treat you better next year.
My husband and I have loved and fought through it all with the ribbon of promise to one another woven through our days as we twist and turn through our shared life. Cups of tea were dropped in on bedside tables after long sleepless nights, midnight checkins, little acts of love peppered throughout the chaos. I love yous, I’m sorrys, head rubs and unspoken tolerance for what could very well drive you crazy if you let it. Our commitment and love for each other lives deep in our hearts, for this I am sure.
I work hard, harder than I ever have these days. It keeps a roof over our head and nice food in our bellies. It keeps our banger of a car on the road. It’s not extravagance, it is only enough to get us by. Just barely sometimes. This makes me work harder. For that I am grateful.
I have friendships that need to be documented as the greatest love stories of all time. Conversations day in and day out with the promise to always help one another get by. When someone loses faith, as we often do, the other is there to buoy their spirits and remind them of their wonder. They don’t have to stay, but they do, and they will. My friends remain one of the most magical things in my life.
My writing has been published many times this year, which is a dream come true. One of my deepest wishes is for that to continue and grow, although it’s hard for me to even say that out loud. I am well aware that dreams are made not magic.
Kind of reminds me of Field of Dreams…If you build it they will come.
I still love the things I’ve always loved like music and movies and poems and art. I made loads of mistakes and went a bit wild. I remained me through it all. I think maybe I got a bit wiser, maybe. I can finally feel some of the lessons taking hold.
I wished for things I will never have. I battled my demons. I got frustrated. I worried all the time. Felt despair. Felt fear…a lot. I failed. I didn’t fix things I wanted to fix. I felt really lonely. I ached for my family a lot.
I missed Dublin desperately.
It’s all part of it.
I think of all the families whose lives came apart this year that will never be repaired. They face lifetimes of generational trauma. All they had was taken from them in an instant. Their home, their children, their future.
So I’ll say thank you, whole heartedly, for a pretty good year.