New Year’s Eve is an odd day for my family. It should be my youngest sister’s birthday, it is her daughter’s. So we gather together to have a party for a nine year old, those of us from further away swap Christmas presents, and we don’t really mention those missing.
It is a day for remembering, nevertheless, not that there is ever a day for me that isn’t. You can’t disentangle someone from your life that was part of it from so early on, and for so long. And why would you want to? Even though it’s a sad thing, it is how it is. And watching her daughter grow is a peculiar bittersweet happiness.
Happy New Year.