The
house is quiet and seems to sigh, content with memories and echoes of laughter
from the last several days. Darkness peeks in through the windows, a contrast
to the bright Christmas lights and decorations that still fill my home. The
week between Christmas and the new year is a golden week for me, a time to be
still, close my eyes, reflect on the past and dream of the future.
The
beginning of a year can be just another day, an opportunity to start fresh,
or the chance to regroup and find more direction. Although, we don’t need to be held to
the first day of the year, we can choose a fresh start every minute, every
hour, every day. For me, though, there is something soothing and hopeful about
January 1.
Each year is a book with the year stamped in gold on the spine. On January first I open the new book, fluff the empty pages and the distinct smell fills my senses. 365 white sheets wait quietly to be filled. My heart yearns for the first page with pen poised but as with each year, I look at the pages from the previous year, the now full book.
For me, 2022 looked at the COVID years and said, “Hold my beer.”
As I began to thumb through, I saw that loss
filled pages and pages of 2022. In February I suddenly lost my dad, and the ensuing
family chaos was brutal. My heart was broken as I spent months and months and
months trying to stave off grief to do my best for my mom and her unhealthy, poor, living situation. I was in survival
mode and became the target of attacks accusing me of being an egomaniac, jealous, narcissistic,
and many other things. Quietly placed lies accusing me of unbelievable things
were selectively shared. Those who chose to believe or perpetuate those lies added
loss and heartbreak to my pages. Words splayed in harsh ink, painted a picture,
some were neat and coherent, others in caps, red and scribbled with a
fierceness betraying the inner sorrow and turmoil that dictated a large portion
of my year. Dried tears bubbled the pages in places, causing the ink to bleed
and run together.
As
I read, I find other things peppered throughout the chaos. Small, organized
quiet words that make my heart smile. Beautifully scrolled words of
encouragement, memories and hugs from friends and words filled with light. In
those quiet words of last year’s stories, I treasure the moments full of color,
clarity, and hope.
A
long-awaited trip with our little family to our favorite place, finally celebrating
a graduation. Eight days of food, laughter, and memories. The joy of following our
oldest as he competed for his final seasons as a D1 track athlete. The miles
driven, the flights taken to cheer, hug, love and enjoy watching him do what he
loved. We made time, despite negative forces, to attend indoor and outdoor
championships.
My
heart calms over memories of Wednesday night family dinners, favorite shows,
movie nights and quiet conversations. It heals over Sundays with my youngest,
chatting over laundry. Joy filled simple moments grace latter pages; dropping
off groceries, helping move my oldest into a new place, conversations, and
laughter on quick weekend trips. Tyler’s graduation with honors fills a page
along with the wonderful things the college and his professors said about him. Austin’s
successful first year of college paired with incredible words of praise from
his professors. Pages where both boys stepped up in challenging moments to
help ease a difficult situation.
The
story of injuries and races slipped into the pages. Moments in the car,
beautiful locations, amazing sunrises, and sunsets paint memories. Traditions
stayed alive from Easter to Halloween to Christmas. Tyler’s engagement fills
pages with our excitement over adding a daughter to the fold and sharing
memories with our new expanded family.
It
was a “hold my beer” year. So many words, visions, memories forever written
into the 2022 novel. Reflecting, I realize breaks in my heart will take years
to heal as will the damage from the personal attacks, but I will remember the
moments that fed my soul during the chaos and darkness. The moments that
reminded me to stay true to myself.
Watching the snow drift through the air, I am thankful for what I learned in 2022, the memories created, and the stories written. 2022 slides onto my shelf, the story finished. My pen is now poised, and a quiet hope is bubbling for the start of a new story, a story with more of the quiet, reflective and thankful moments. Happy New Year. Begin your story!
