There is something in me that needs to commemorate dates – sweet dates like half birthdays and first meetings, and sad dates like today’s: 30th March, a year since I had emergency surgery and lived through one of the worst weeks of my life.
I don’t know if it’s the weather this time of year – the changing of the seasons – or the fact that school holidays have just begun and Easter is around the corner, all of which were happening this time last year. But I have felt the date looming all week, and now that it’s bedtime I’m glad it’s over.
A year ago I had just returned home after emergency surgery to remove an abscess under general anesthetic. I had two of the hardest days of solo parenting ahead of me, with our nanny in the Eastern Cape and Mark on crazy deadlines at work because he was about to leave for China, and nobody else able to help. I was in such pain and so exhausted and so wildly emotional and I had a 6-month-old baby to breastfeed and a 2.5 year old toddler to keep happy. It was so excruciatingly hard.
Today, we went to the beach for a picnic. We played in the garden, and watched Dumbo (the original 1941 version) for the first time. We laughed and sang and went for a walk. It was gloriously ordinary.
And perhaps now that last year is officially a year ago, I can lay it to rest. I admit, when I think about it I still feel emotional because I was at rock bottom and had to keep going… But surely that’s just what happens in life, sometimes? We hit rock bottom, we crawl a little, then we get a chance to lay down and rest and pick ourselves up.
I am so deeply, deeply grateful that it’s 30th March 2018 and not 30th March 2017.
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