Another Sunday nearly over.
Children and grandchildren have gone home.
And as I sit here, in the now peace and quiet, I find myself thinking what Sundays have meant to me over the years
As a child, getting up and going to Mass. Being scolded for fidgeting during Father’s sermon
Sunday afternoons as a teenager, meeting friends and spending the time talking and laughing…. Usually about the latest pop sensation or boy we were ‘in love with’ . Then panicking about unfinished homework that had to be handed in the next morning !
The Sunday afternoon I left home to start my nurse training. Being driven to the Nurse’s Home by Mum and Dad. Feeling both terrified and excited at the same time. Meeting the girls in my ‘set’ for the first time… All us pretending to be suave and worldly-wise! And meeting J, who would become my lifelong friend , and with whom I shared many adventures.
That first Sunday evening when we all went to a local hotel bar to ‘bond’… Not that we used such a term in those days!…..and all took a cigarette from ‘T’. it was the very first one I had ever tried! By the next day 9 of the 12 girls were ‘smokers’! I smoked for the next 17 years before giving up.
Then, when I was living in a flat with a group of friends,and off duty. Long, lazy Sundays curled up on one of the girl’s beds discussing and dissecting the previous Saturday evening’s shenanigans! Sharing the happiness of some, and comforting others whose Saturdays had been less than good.
Being the only one in the house getting up at 5.30 to get ready for work on a dark and cold Sunday morning….often after only having gone to bed at 3!…..and feeling very hard done by.
When the children were small, and I was still ward based, making the most of Sundays off with them. Heading to the beach or forest for adventures.
Then as they became teenagers themselves, lying awake in the early hours of Sunday mornings waiting to hear the door open, and knowing they were home safe and sound before I could sleep
The Sunday we drove K to university for the first time, and I cried all the way home. Master Chef insisted on sleeping in her bed, and he cried all night.
The Sunday K and G got married. There had been torrential rain all week, and the planned ceremony in a gazebo by a lake was looking less and less likely. Then Sunday arrived with brilliant blue skies, and hot sunshine. Somebody had answered our prayers.
Going to London to celebrate my Birth Mother’s 70th birthday by having Sunday afternoon tea at the Dorchester.
Now that all the children have flown the nest
Sundays can be long and lonely…..too quiet
They are usually filled with the normal humdrum of washing, cleaning, and the dreaded supermarket dash.
Sometimes a few of ‘us girls’ will head out somewhere for a long and leisurely breakfast.
And of course, whenever possible, long walks on a beach somewhere.
But the Sundays I look forward to most?
The ones when all the children, their respective partners, and my beloved grandsons all descend for Sunday lunch.
And once again the house is filled with noise, love and laughter