My husband and I recently returned from two weddings in Indiana. Both were delightful and brimming with joy. Days not to be missed, despite mile-high airfares and the distance we had to traverse, with less-than-optimally healthy bodies. But Advil, Tylenol, and Voltaren can achieve wonders to help one through the vagaries of age, which for neither my husband nor me are vague. When the reason is compelling, you cope.
In 2027, we have two more weddings to attend – both are on the same day. In different places and states. My husband and I are in an impossible situation, one that requires Solomon-like wisdom and finesse.
2027 will have 365 days, like every other year except the designated leap years.
Though the first engaged gal set her date and I informed the second young lady… she chose the date already encumbered on our calendar. It’s not my fault. Yet, according to my sister, I’m to blame because her daughter forgot. Another cog in the wheel, for which our relationship is buried and left for dead. Again. So far, we’ve gone through more lives than a cat. Since I’m near 80, the next time we get together may be at my funeral. I’m more than sad. In the fifty-year-old family photo below, half of the members are gone, causing me to treasure family time together ever more.
Within my family’s paradigm, it’s never right and never enough. Do you experience that conundrum as well?
Here’s the trailer for a long-ago movie I borrowed the title for this blog. As you watch Hugh Grant fumble and bumble his way through interaction with others, consider that this how I feel: http://four weddings and a funeral
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