My mother disliked Sundays, well actually she said she hated them, but hate seems a bit strong so I will go with the more subtle verb of dislike. A Google search for the worst day of the week results in mixed opinions, but the majority seem to think that it is actually Tuesday which should be loathed more than any other. Mom didn’t like Sunday for a number of reasons. The more common reason she gave was that her judge shows were not on television. In fact, there was usually very little on the tube that she would enjoy on Sundays. Sunday for her was a day void of all the fun things she liked doing; going to the gym, going to breakfast with friends, and watching her favorite programs. Now I really should be fair and say that this opinion she developed in the last few months of her life, after dad had gone and she was no longer able to spend much time doing things she enjoyed like gardening.
I suppose in many ways I share her thoughts on Sunday. It does seem to be a day that offers little to do (unless you are religious in which case you may view this day much differently) and almost seems like there was an extra screw left over when the engineers were assembling the week and just decided to include it anyway. For some people, Sunday is that dreaded day they use to devise the perfect excuse why they are calling in sick Monday morning as they recover from the Saturday night’s party. For others, Sunday night they enter that shame spiral of having wasted the day by sleeping until noon and then doing absolutely nothing besides clicking random links on Facebook, realizing their day consisted entirely of dreams and cat videos. A select few will get to spend their day holding their mother’s hand while she takes her last breath.
At first I thought how fitting that mom picked the day she disliked the most to leave this world, but after more reflection I realize that maybe she was doing us a favor. She didn’t want to ruin any of the other days of the week. I suppose I should thank her for that.
So here it is, a Sunday. An uneasy feeling in my stomach lingers as the hours of this day tick away. That feeling intensified to its peak at five o’clock in the evening, marking the time my mother passed away. It has been four weeks now and for the first time since I had a dream about mom and dad, so I suppose the sleeping ’til noon part wasn’t a waste. Unfortunately the dream was made up entirely of me trying to take a photo of them and something keeps happening to prevent that. They keep getting distracted and turning around, the camera malfunctions, the picture comes out blurry, etc. Still I got to see them in my dream.
I don’t know if I will always share my mother’s disdain for this day, but I can say without question that Sunday will always be a special day.