Time for Bill and me ...

Even as a kid, I never liked Sunday.  It always meant that the fun days were over and it was time to think of responsibilities ... getting back to classes or later in life, getting back to work.  When the boys were young, Sundays took on a new meaning.  We would have a great meal with my mother-in-law joining us for a great number of years, then she would go home and the boys were bathed then tucked into bed.  Time for Bill and me.  That often meant a movie, shrimp ring and wine.  We were in our jammies and the house was clean and still smelling of a great meal; time to kick back and enjoy each other's company.  If it wasn't a movie, it was in our room watching the Outer Limits or X-Files with a night cap.  The sound of the ice as it clinked against the glass still plays in my mind and the warmth of his arm around me as we sat content with each other, with our life as a family are cherished memories that sustain me.

As the boys got older, staying up later and my mother-in-law's dementia worsening, no longer wanting to come over for a meal, Sundays became family night of sorts.  On those Sundays when there were no last minute assignments to finish, Sundays became about a movie, pop and popcorn.  The house was now a little more cluttered with bigger toys, the smell of the meal was often of something slapped together quickly but we were together as a family.  There was happy chatter.  I often looked around the room, soaking in each and every one.  I knew even then, that this was not forever.

Time passed and the boys got a little older and were becoming more interested with their friends.  Sundays started to feel again like Sundays of old, the last day before returning to the routine of a work week, the day dragging along.  Bill and I returned to watching a movie, trying to listen over the chatter of the boys.  We all went to bed at the same time - the Walton household became silent with the last glow of light fading into the night.  Contentment.

In the last years, Sundays were truly back to being blah days.  Really no time as a family and everything seem to revolve around our sons' social or work life, pick up or dropping off and most times both.  The evening was rushed with all the responsibilities of the household of an older family.  Little Bill and Ginette time.  Although we did this together, our routine was about the boys.  We did so willingly and lovingly for we knew that this too shall pass and we were intent on making memories even if it is about how we were there to support their work and their social life.

Since Bill's death, there is no routine to speak of, children working at different times or out with friends - the light emanating from my window is often the first to be silenced.  I lay there waiting to hear the first to come home, then the second.  I lay there trying to hear the happy chatter of old; nothing, not even the whisper of a snore.  I am thankful that I can lay there in anticipation and not in silence.

Today is Sunday.  I now have my routine.  Coffee, journal, blog and the quiet of my home.  Boys often sleeping in from the previous night's outing.  Some last minute tidying up and then a plan for an evening with my knitting needles, or a long phone call with family or friend, or a drive with my camera in tow to capture the day.  Today, I have a late ball hockey game scheduled.  It is now my routine. 

Living in the moment as I have for the last year, tomorrow is another day not to be borrowed against.  What a valuable lesson.

Sundays, in the moment, time for Bill and me.