To me you will always be the year my mom passed away, so your unlucky “13” designation is well earned. I won’t be able to think of you without a little pain, whenever I look back.
You were also the year my friend Linda died, and my dear Aunt Gertie got weaker and frailer and more confused, and lots of sad things happened to people I care about. But then, every year is somebody’s worst year, isn’t it?
I will try to remember the good things you brought as well. I will remember you as the year I wrote a novel about two characters I grew to love, and got that novel accepted for publication. I’ll remember you as the year I finally got away for a week-long writing retreat in another province with a dear friend and met a bunch of new friends, and had a wonderful, relaxing time full of personal and professional growth. I’ll remember you as the year I completed and earned my Master Guide requirements. You’re the year in which I got two full-grown teenagers in the family and that’s turned out to be a lot of fun so far, much more than I expected.
I want to remember you, 2013, as the year we went white-water rafting on the Exploits River and had a magical day of screams and laughter. The year I taught some wonderful students and saw many of them move forward to accomplish big goals in their lives. A year of coffee dates and weekend getaways with good friends. A year of hanging out with my family, getting to know my kids better as they grow toward their adult selves, laughing and having fun with my husband who is also my best friend, spending more time with my dad. A year of enjoying morning coffees with the best co-workers I’ve ever had in my working life. A year of reading wonderful books (more on that in tomorrow’s post), of trying to grow in grace and trust God more, of unfolding just a little bit more of who I am and what my life is about.
In other words, a year of change — some of it good, some of it bad — a year of growth, and a year of ordinariness.
Thanks for all you’ve given, 2013. And I forgive you for what you’ve taken, because nothing gold can stay. Goodbye. Your friend 2014 is waiting just outside the door. I hope s/he’ll be a little easier on me and the ones I love. I don’t know if I’d exactly say I’m ready for 2014, but I’m trying to trust.