I Resolved



The New Year holiday has never held special importance to me. Its significance seemed merely to be a particular date when a four-digit number increased by one; remembering to write the new year’s digit on checks or correspondence would finally sink in, through repetition, by the end of the first month.

Resolutions seemed silly to me. If I needed to make a change in my life, I would make that change at the time of realization, not wait for a particular calendar day.

There was, however, and I admit this without contradiction, a short time when my late husband and I would drink wine and nibble on hors d’oeuvres several New Year’s Eves. With the children sleeping soundly in bed, we would sit together and flip through the soon-to-be-retired calendar, reminiscing all the events in ours and our children’s lives through scribbled appointments, hockey, soccer, lacrosse games and practices and more. When our reminiscing was complete, we opened the envelope which had been stapled to the month of December of the outgoing calendar. The envelope was labeled, “Do Not Open Until December 31, XXXX (the outgoing year.)

Inside the envelope was a sheet of notebook paper upon which we had written our predictions and goals for the upcoming year (the year that just passed.) More often than not, our predictions and goals caused great laughter as we realized we had forgotten many of the goals which we had set for ourselves and our predictions were always, hysterically wrong.

After all the reminiscing and laughter, it was time to fill out another notebook sheet with our new goals and predictions for the upcoming year, label it and staple it onto December’s page of the new calendar.

Those traditions ended the year my husband died. I still have the calendar of our last year together though. I do not know why. I simply want to save it.

This year, the clock struck Time’s final midnight for me when I learned that my son was dying from pancreatic cancer. Time stopped. Goals, predictions, wants, desires, hopes and dreams fell to a place of great unimportance. I cried, I grieved, I will miss him for the remainder of my life on this plane and hurt for the joys of life which were stolen from him, especially the joys of raising his two young children.

In my grief, I concluded that “Time” is an illusion restricted to our plane of existence and understanding. I live in moments now. I live for purpose and found new motivation by accepting my personal obligation to live life with meaning, no matter how small and insignificant I may think my actions are. It is akin to the “butterfly effect.” I do matter. My actions matter. It is not important that I am ever made aware of how I may have changed someone’s life through a simple act of kindness or warm smile. What is important is that I “did it.”

Grief has dug deep into my heart and soul, uncovering a deeper understanding of life. We are each here for a reason, we are in this together.
My final “resolution” on that fateful day of learning my son would soon die, was to “live” each and every day with purpose for others, no matter how limited my ability may be, there is always a way, there is always something I can give.

MotherTheresa1And, with that thought, I leave you with a quote from Mother Teresa:  “Not all of us can do great things, but, we can do small things with great love.”


This post in in response to today’s Daily Post. Here is another post in reference to the Daily Prompt, The Moon is Beautiful, Isn’t It?

9 responses to “I Resolved

  1. I’m so sorry about the loss of your son. I have friends who are facing terminal cancer right now, and they & their families echo so many of thoughts you had in this piece. You wrote beautifully about it and I hope this year brings you some peace. I know you will always miss him and grieve that loss, but my prayer for you is some unexpected joy.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I hear you. The coming year cannot help but be better than this last one.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks Marilyn. I know you won’t be writing as much as usual due to the toll it takes on our bodies, sitting at a computer for long periods of time. I, too, will not be writing regularly. I haven’t been writing regularly while learning from my grieving process. Yet, I have kept myself busy – mind and body, that is, to the limited extent my body will cooperate with disc problems and now I have Tarlov cycsts on my spine. Ugh!

      I hope you have a relaxing and enjoyable time in Arizona and will be checking back on your blog from time to time to see how you are doing.

      Thank you for being an inspiration to me on so many,many, occasions! ~ Shalom


      • Hang on in there. There has been so much tragedy in everyone’s lives in the past few years, I’m more than a little numb. And you’re right. I really need a break from blogging. My brain is turning to jelly and my wrists and shoulder are seizing up.

        Liked by 1 person

  3. Oh this makes my heart hurt and expand at the same time. Swoosie I’m at loss of words. I don’t know what could I say that would make sense and would be fair to your sentiment. Please forgive me.

    Accept my big warm fuzzy (virtual) hug and love ❤

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you so much for your sentiments. I haven’t written much, at all, about the process of grieving because I don’t want to bring people “down” but I feel that I am making progress and will write more about this experience when I can write with “how” I am finding ways to live with grief – it will always be a part of me and I now accept its presence. {{{Hugs}}} back at you!


  4. Pingback: The moon is beautiful, isn’t it? | Ramisa the Authoress

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