Sunday has always been the loneliest day of the week for me.
When I was a child it always seemed as though everyone had something else to do. I pictured big family gatherings with laughing and talking and plenty of food. No one was every unhappy or lonely in the other world of Sundays that I was some how not a part of.
When my kids were younger I always tried to plan something on a Sunday. I would have friends over and make dinner or go to the park or the zoo with them. I’d look around to see someone like me but found only the lovely family of four. Two children, Mom, and Dad all smiling and feeding ducks (fill in the your version of family bliss) and on their way to Grandma’s for Sunday dinner. Being a single parent, I was again shut out of this scenario.
I’m not sure why it never occurred to me that things might not have always been what they seemed. That not everyone in my imaginary scenario I used to torture myself was actually happy. Or if they were why that made any less of what happiness I had myself. Thier Sunday always seemed to be better and fuller for some reason. But I suppose that comparisons and imaginations do that to us sometimes.
So, on this Sunday morning, I’m spending a moment to be grateful for what I do have and I’m going to cherish the day that I have been given.