Tomorrow Began Yesterday

It’s all now you see: tomorrow began yesterday and yesterday won’t be over until tomorrow. – William Faulkner

It’s a quiet morning, and I’m in the house alone sitting in my room, sipping on a steaming cup of coffee, and cuddled under the covers in my robe.  Mornings like this are a rarity, and I am fully enjoying the moment.  Out there beyond my bedroom door are lists of things I need to buy and things I need to do.  Kids and family will begin descending on our house either tonight or tomorrow.  I haven’t really been able to clarify exactly who is being brought along to our house…or when.  For now though, until my feet hit the floor with some kind of purpose, these morning moments belong to me.  

Thanksgiving? No, More Like Malaise

November sucks.   

This morning T reminded me of the other Thanksgivings that have been full of sadness, loss, or disappointment.  Of course, through the years, some Thanksgivings have turned out just fine.  If you were a statistician, though, you would see that our family has shockingly high odds of Thanksgiving misfortune.  One Thanksgiving, we sat by the bedside of our dying daughter.  A few short years later, we sat in the Emergency Room.  T, a VERY pregnant me, and one-year-old Luke were waiting for stitches to close a particularly bad “boo boo” to Luke’s head.  Luke had fallen into a bookcase just as we were getting ready to walk out the door to go to Grandma’s house.  If you throw into the mix the number of years when one kid or another just happened to be sick on Thanksgiving Day, our track record really sucks.  T and I talked about all of these things this morning.  He said that while he doesn’t believe in my November superstitions, he’s beginning to wonder if there isn’t some merit to my dislike of November after all.

Less Than Four Hours

It’s on its way.  NOVEMBER.  God, how I hate November!  I have a calendar hanging in my office.  It has prints of art deco Parisian fashion plates, and I have loved seeing each new picture as I turn the page on another month.  However, in October, each time I have looked up at my calendar, I have felt dread.  Tomorrow,  I turn will turn the page to November.  For the next month, memories will haunt me.  So many bad memories crammed into a short span in the calendar year.  I should be grateful that the other months of the calendar are free from memories of loss, death, and confusion.  I won’t breathe freely until mid-December.  I’ll just be waiting for yet another tragedy to add to the tally.

November Nauseates Me

I hate November.  I hate turning that page on my calendar.  November scares the hell out of me.  Even if everything is going along smoothly in my life, when November comes, I expect the worst.  I am waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under me again.  I seriously hate November.  November is bad luck.  In November, my karma is askew.  My stars are out of whack.   It begins in November, and it lasts clear through until the holidays finally, slowly, painfully come to an end.

It wasn’t always this way.  As a kid, I looked forward to Thanksgiving and the Christmas holidays.  I loved seeing my grandparents and getting tons of presents.  I loved decorating the Christmas tree and baking cookies.  I loved it all.  Now, I go through the motions.  I know what I am supposed to do at this time of year, but my heart isn’t in it.

In 1987, my daughter Grace was born on November 24.  She was born too early, just under three pounds.  November reminds me of the happy anticipation of that year long ago.  The nursery we were setting up, the Thanksgiving plans.  That Thanksgiving didn’t happen.  We spent that day sitting by our daughter’s bedside as she fought for her life.  The crib we had put together days before her birth was sadly taken down weeks later, never used.