Auld Lang Syne

By Bobby Neal Sinters

We are at the turn of the year. In fairly short order, three things happen.  First, we have the Winter Solstice, where the north pole is pointing away from the sun and for us in the northern hemisphere it is the darkest time of year.  Second, we have New Year’s Day which is the day we choose to mark the starting of a..new year.  Third, not noticed by anyone nor marked in any special way, the Earth passes its closest to the sun on January 2 this year.  

So we begin ascending from the darkness, turn a page on the calendar, and begin a new orbit around the sun.  

It is a time to remember.

I was walking in the evening a short time ago when I made my final turn south. The sun had set and it was inky dark even though it was only approaching 6pm.  I looked ahead and saw Christmas lights one block ahead of me.

My mind went through a series of restarts in the following order. Oh, my mother-in-law has put up lights. No, my daughter has put up lights; my mother-in-law is dead and has been dead for over two-and-a-half years.

I walked past the bright Christmas lights--powered by solar--and crossed the alley.  My mind was taken back to the period during which my mother-in-law was dying.  

Those were different times.  The times of the lockdown. She fell ill on Boxing Day and was terrified it was COVID. This was not an unreasonable fear: I lost a good friend to COVID on the very day we had to rush her to the hospital.

After a month in the darkness of January, they released her into hospice, and my wife went to live with her in order to take care of her.  I would go to have supper with Jean, and then walk home afterwards.

That night after I’d put the Christmas lights behind me, the street seemed to me exactly as it had those years before. The time had disappeared.  I thought about my mother-in-law Janet.  I thought about my friend Steve.  I was back there in time.

I walked in the past in darkness for two blocks.  Then I arrived back home and stepped into a bubble of light.

On January 1, 2011, my mother passed away.  It was a bright, cold, sunny day when my cell phone rang and my brother told me the news.  It was not unexpected.  She hadn’t known me for quite some time.  One of the last times I saw her and she could still talk, she didn’t recognize me. I told her I’d spent $25 on a shirt and she was horrified by the notion.  She didn’t know my name, but she was still scandalized.

She’s gone now.

I relive it every New Year’s Day.

I am not writing any of this for people to feel sorry for me.  My holidays are not ruined by this. Death is a part of life.  Everyone who is as old as me has their own list of people dear to them they have lost.  If they are lucky, it is a long list. And I do mean that.  Statistically speaking, some of those will pass away--or begin down that path--on the holidays.

I am happy to have known my mother-in-law.  I am happy to walk the same streets she walked.  I am proud of my wife for having taken care of her the last few months of her life. It was a hard time.  A hard time.  But we honor hard times by remembering them.  We honor our loved ones by remembering them.

We love our sugar. We love our sweets. We would eat them until our teeth were rotten.  But there are many worthwhile things that have a bit of salt or sour or bitter in them.

Even sweet lives are seasoned with the salt of tears, the sourness of dissatisfaction, and the bitterness of loss. It all comes in the same package.  And we would choose none of it ourselves. None of the loss, none of the disappointment. But it’s given to us anyway.

As I write this, I know that some of you who read this have either experienced or will soon experience loss.  I am not saying this is a good thing.  I am saying that in the years to come, when you remember, let the tears flow.  Feel your feelings. If you hurt a lot, that means you loved a lot. 

Love. That’s what it’s all about in the end.

Bobby Winters, a native of Harden City, Oklahoma, blogs at redneckmath.blogspot.com and okieinexile.blogspot.com. He invites you to “like” the National Association of Lawn Mowers on Facebook. Search for him by name on YouTube.