“What will 2007 bring?” Dan asked yawning.
“It’s just a number," I said matter-of-factly trying to force myself out of bed, nearly breaking my New Year’s resolution to push aside dark thoughts which enter my head every morning when I awake. “Yes, and seven is a lucky number, so maybe it’ll be lucky for the world,” I managed to say, thinking of Iraq and global warming.
We had sat with friends eating nouvelle cuisine in a posh restaurant the previous night. We toasted the New Year and hugged each other. My hugs have become desperate lately. I don’t know if our friends have noticed my need to find comfort in physical contact with other human beings, clinging on longer than I should. A need to be reassured by the solidity of their bodies that it’s OK, we are all in this together.
Feelings of anticipation and excitement, new beginnings and a chance to start afresh were all stirred up inside me. Jon, my son, in a cell. He is always with me. Every day, every hour, every minute, every second. In the warm convivial atmosphere of the restaurant he was there. Not in the gut wrenching way he used to be, but there with a gentle sad ache that never leaves.
“All the best”, “Happy New Year”, Auld Lang Syne playing loudly, holding hands with strangers, dancing wildly.
Inebriated phone messages from Kathryn and Aaron shouting, “Happy New Year”, “Love you”. They’re laughing, full of joy, high on their love and happiness, and I’m filled with a warm glow.
Copyright © 2007 Barbara Attwood