Memories are fragile, subject to cracks and fading. Yet, they are tenacious, binding into the subconscious with the strength of Elmer’s glue.
Some remain undetected until a sudden re-emergence decades later.
Often they are pulled from the bank of yesterday and quoted often.
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Many of those are wrapped in affection. They have the ability to resurrect those we have loved and lost into consciousness, but only for a brief moment.
Some memories are recited like rote without little credit given to its origin. Such is the edict my sisters and I heard often in childhood, “That’s for Sunday.”
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Sometimes, it would be a freshly ironed white blouse on a hanger. More often, it would be a container of fresh fruit to be served after 11 o’clock Mass with several corn muffins from the corner bakery.
Occasionally, it would be the remnants of a roast chicken to be included in a salad for Sunday lunch.
And yes, “That’s for Sunday,” is the memory quoted often long after I left the home shared with my parents.
Until 2020 when suddenly I became aware I have been keeping everything I treasured until the next “Sunday.”
I seem to have viewed the long weeks and now months of isolation as being without a Sunday. Possibly, because no longer do I have the joy of Will’s visits. Or is it more than that?
Is it that I fear Sunday won’t return? Is that why my jewel box has been unopened?
Is it a reason not to wear the gifts that remind me of my Anam Cara?
Is it a reason not to celebrate the seventh day of the week, regardless of isolation.
Is it a reason not to order a croissant from the bakery for Sunday breakfast?
I believe it’s time for me to remember that Sunday will be soon, and it’s time to get ready.
No longer should I hesitate to wear the linen dress I once saved for Will’s next Sunday visit, Nor will put the brownies I made into the freezer until the next time he is allowed to visit.
I will remember that Sunday remains the seventh day of the week, and I can choose to celebrate The Lord’s Day despite all the impediments presented by Covid 19.
Next week on Sunday I will wear my new yellow dress and invite my friends to join me for brownies and tea. I’ll also remember to wear the last gift my husband gave me, the lovely David Yurman bracelet.
Because life must and will continue. No matter how the world changes, we cannot allow ourselves to forget Sunday.
