For some reason, Sunday afternoons and evenings are when “old ghosts” are prone to visit me.
That’s the time when, before the workweek starts all over again, that I tend to think of the past — of regrets and hurts I’ve known that most of the time I can push out of my mind.
Am I the only one that this happens to?
Not to say that I don’t think of sad or bad things any other time – it’s just that on Sunday evenings, when I’m “girding my loins,” so to speak, for another week – I seem to let my guard down.
This past Sunday was especially hard, made worse by watching a sad program about animals (not ever a good idea for me) and being alone in the house for a good portion of the afternoon.
I think of those I miss with every beat of my heart. I think of bad times, of bad things that are going on in the world, of hatred, of darkness, of loneliness, of the certainty of my own mortality …geez it’s gettin’ deep isn’t it?
I run from these things I don’t like to dwell on — successfully — most of the time. I don’t like to feel sorry for myself, and why should I? I am fortunate and I know it. I love and am loved. I may not have all that I want, but I have more than I really need.
So, add some “guilt” about having these sad feelings to my list.
We all go through things that the Bible says “are common unto man.” I’m not unique in any of the things, good or bad, that have occurred in my life, and I know that too.
But still, those ghosts peer at me as the dusk gathers, holding me in a somber place.
I once heard that it is man’s curse to be the only creature on earth known to contemplate his own mortality. I also think he may be the only one who dwells on the past.
But I wonder.
Sometimes, I look into the eyes of my old cat Tinkerbell as she sits quietly in repose, her brilliant green eyes a study in intelligence, and yes, maybe reflection.
How do we know what she thinks of as she sits looking into the distance? Is she remembering another time, when as a kitten, she could run and frolic for hours on end. Is she wondering when her end will come?
I hope not.
I hope instead, that she is simply doing what I should have been doing this Sunday afternoon, reveling in the moment, which is all she or I have anyway.
And I venture to think that my old cat may be far wiser than I. When she crawls into my lap to snuggle and receive the affection she knows I have for her, I think she thinks only of the contentment of that moment.
I wish I could be like that — never to dredge up the ghosts of old losses, hurts and regrets — just to live in each God-given moment.
It’s a goal I’m afraid I’ll never achieve, particularly not as long as there are those Sunday evenings, poised on the unknown journey of a new week.
But I’ll keep trying.
Margie Richards is a reporter and office manager for The Madison County Journal.
