As I turn the clocks forward, I think back to this time last year. I was so consumed with the tough task at hand that I was unaware of the time change until well after noon. Talk about losing an hour. I had one less hour to generate the courage and words to tell my son that I was sending him away. So excuse me if I have no sympathy for those who complain about an hour less sleep on a Saturday night.
I remember that day so vividly: the look on B’s face, and the pain in his voice as he vowed to never speak to me again. All I could say in response was, “I love you.” It hurt me so badly. I can only imagine the pain that B felt, or YaYa for that matter. And all this fell just weeks before the 1st anniversary of Tom’s death.
A year later, I find the act of turning the clocks ahead symbolic of the forward motion in each of our lives. We’ve made so much progress. We’ve endured in spite of the tough times. And B has spoken to me.
An hour may not amount to much but tonight, for me, it amounts to a whole lot. Every day, every hour, I try to remember that I am blessed. There are no guarantees that any of us will wake tomorrow morning. Waking an hour earlier or later means nothing, given this perspective.
I admit, I will be out of sorts come Monday when the alarm will go off in darkness once more and dinner time will sneak up on us without warning. I am simply trying to view this change in a more positive way. I can rejoice instead, if only I count my blessings in having another “tomorrow” to enjoy the many gifts I’ve been given. What’s more, it’s here an hour earlier.
As a mother, I can only imagine how hard that decision, let alone conversation, must have been. But it seems to be working out well for both of you, so it must have been the right thing to do.