My parents celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary on Sunday; coincidentally, the fourth anniversary of my moving on to Chuffy. Not that the two are related in any way other than without the one, there would not have been the other. It was a good day.
I can't yet imagine 40 years on the planet, let alone 40 years of marriage. It's been 20 years since I left school, so I multiply that and it still seems a way off. The population of the earth has maybe doubled during this short time.
Whilst home, I found myself flicking through some old photo albums, inspired perhaps, by a photograph my aunt had of my Mum holding me as a small baby. I was struck by how pretty she was and how happy she looked, holding this small fleshy creature that turned into me.
I don't think back much to my earlier days, I'm content with my place in the world, an whatever paths I took to get here. What did strike me was how broken up my past feels, as if each section is a separate chapter, each one a new story in its own right, and somehow not much flow between them. Is it like that for everyone?
The rapid pace of change in the last 37 years has no doubt rent asunder whatever specific hopes and dreams my Mum may have had for me on that day as the sun shone down on her smile. Other than perhaps to live a good life and be happy. I'm willing to argue the meaning of 'good' in this case...
Someone once old me that there was no real secret to bringing a child into the world: "love them unconditionally and let them be who they're meant to be". I wonder if these thoughts will ever be shared by the man mentioned in an email I was sent today.
"oh Jesus I'm so depressed - there's a guy on our teleconference who's wife had a baby a couple of hours ago and he's apologising for not being able to connect his laptop and view the powerpoint from the hospital!!!"
Listening to XV by Kings X
