You Make Your Own Day

What a wonderful weekend  this was. I can’t remember a better weekend. There were no special events, just a couple days with Mark and Roxy.  As I reflect on the past few days, I don’t think I will be writing “just” meaning nothing very special anymore.  Days such as these are what miracles are made of.  The sun was shining and I was with someone I love…is there anything else? Yes, Roxy was with us too. At the beach, as we watched Roxy run into the water and then run out and then run in again and lay down in the water. I remembered our days at the beach when I was little. I don’t remember much but I do remember Coast Guard beach and running in and out of the water. I was with my parents, Stephen and Debbie (my brother and sister).  I remember being pushed over by the waves and running back in. We vacationed every summer for a week in Eastham, MA. We rented a cottage. I think it was pink but am not sure.  I found pictures of my brother, sister and me on the split rail fence, each of us wearing our sailer hats.  I also remember a nearby rooster and chickens that chased me.

Making new memories helped me to remember some of my past. Small, single memories of days with my family.  Memories of my past that make me happy for what I had; not sad for what I missed. I even stopped at the cemetery today to check on the my Grandmother’s and Mother/Father’s graves. Each year Mark and I clean up and plant flowers on my family and his family’s graves. It always reminds me of going to Brockton, MA each year to tend to my Grandma Meeche’s family’s grave. On today’s visit, however, I remembered a little more. I remembered my father placing the lawn mower into our station wagon, along with the clippers. The drive to Brockton that seemed like forever; it might as well been to Disney World. Once there my father cut the grass, trimmed the evergreens and we all helped plant flowers.  Afterward we would have a picnic right in the cemetery.  When I remembered that I actually called my brother and sister to make sure that it happened. I can’t imagine picnicking in a cemetery now.  My brother even remembered that our lawn mower was a golden color.  It’s odd the details we remember.

I am starting to think that remembering more of my time with my mother can help to counteract the memories I wasn’t able to make with her. Instead of painfully mourning, I am going to look forward to remembering. I am going to wake each morning and choose to be happy. My daughter’s daycare provider, Gayle, used to say, “You make your own day.”  Well she was right. I am going to make my days happy.

Here is one part of Saturday that made me smile.




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