It feels like a real anniversary this year,
because it falls on the same day of the week
as the day we got married.
It was several years ago, but I still remember how one listener nodded, and one looked at me with an oh-good-grief face. You may know that face; I certainly do. It often appears after I’ve said something that I will admit is illogical, but that I would contend is not unreasonable because it captures exactly — Exactly! — how something feels.
Most things I celebrate annually have zero day-of-the-week association: my birthday comes to mind. Canada Day. Valentine’s Day. Some things have some level of day-of-the-week association: as noted above, my wedding comes to mind. Graduations, maybe, for a certain cohort; likely some deaths, for others. And a few things have defining day-of-the-week associations: for Canadians, Victoria Day comes to mind. For Canadians and Americans, Thanksgiving (although of course the days are different). For Christians, Good Friday. For me, as it turns out, the Big Guy’s cardiac arrest.
As I write this it is April 25, the one-year anniversary of said cardiac arrest. But it’s the wrong day of the week because it’s a Saturday. The events of Friday, Saturday, and Sunday in late April 2025 are etched into my memory, and they are drastically different from each other. Friday is the day he went down; Saturday is the day we didn’t know if he would wake up; Sunday is the day he came back to us. I know the dates; I lived the days.
Those memories don’t care that our Gregorian calendar sees a given date advance by one day-of-the-week every year, and two days in a leap year, just because our annual transit time around the sun (~365.256 days) isn’t evenly divisible by the number of celestial bodies that Mesopotamian astrologers thought were significant and therefore used to set up the week (7). Emotionally, it would make better sense to me to mark this anniversary on the last Friday, Saturday, and Sunday of April, independent of the dates of those days. I expect that’s what I will do, in coming years. And no, the guy who doesn’t remember any of it doesn’t get a vote.
Of course, what matters about this anniversary isn’t the dates-versus-days debate, but whether I use the memory of those three life-changing dates/days to change the future. To that end, I’m gradually outfitting the house and car with tools useful in an emergency. I’m graciously persisting at persuading my synagogue’s leadership to establish and to communicate a response procedure for on-site medical emergencies, may they never happen. And I’m cheerfully reminding my family and friends and neighbours and blog readers and knitting buddies and chance-met strangers to consider their own situations and to prepare as they are able, because things do happen, as much as we might wish otherwise.
See you a year from now. Ish.
A real celebration day, unlike our birth days which we had nothing to do with, really. I ignore those & think every day of the luck to have been born at all. A one chance in 400 trillion (apparently).
Barbara – 🙂 It’s one thing to be one in the several billion (of humans who ever lived) and slightly overwhelming to be one in 400 trillion humans who might have lived. But I guess we’re here now, so we might as well enjoy it.
I applaud your idea to follow the days, rather than the dates. Each could have its significance, and you have chosen to acknowleged the emotional experience, rather than be tied to the math of the celestial realm. Math has its place, for example, in reminding me to swim on Mondays, because the other days of the week have their own plans. Emotions don’t have much use for math.
Judith – 🙂 For some reason, “Emotions don’t have much use for math” made me think of “Love laughs at locksmiths” and then realized I had no idea where it was from: Shakespeare, an 1811 print by Thomas Rowlandson, and a 1908 film. Live and learn. And in this case, I think you’re right – the emotional significance trumps the celestial.
I was born on a Tuesday. I only know that because a friend once gave me, as a birthday gift, a 1936 calendar that he had found in an odds-and-ends store somewhere. I’ve always liked Tuesdays, somehow.
Jim – 🙂 And who could blame you?
I was in Montreal with a friend in 2019 and she told the waiter it was my birthday. He leaned down and kissed me on both cheeks. Then Covid hit.
Barbara – Awww. I got a free slice of galactoboureko on my birthday once, but your story is better.
Happy Aniversary ! ! !
Only one day to go
hahaha
🙂 Thank you. It’s good to have an anniversary.
Isabel – in addition to an emergency medical plan, does your synagogue have an AED? After attending an emergency preparedness presentation in my condo, a year or so ago, I now try and remember to look for them in public places. There are two in my condo building and I know where to find them.
On remembering the day of the week, you were born. This child’s poem may help.
• Monday’s child is fair of face,
• Tuesday’s child is full of grace,
• Wednesday’s child is full of woe,
• Thursday’s child has far to go,
• Friday’s child is loving and giving,
• Saturday’s child works hard for a living,
• But the child that is born on the Sabbath day, is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.
By chance, I was born on a Sunday, 12 December 1948; and when that poem was coined, gay meant happy.
John – Yes, we have an AED (although I think it’s locked away in someone’s office during services now that we’re out of the building during a year-long renovation, d’oh). As you note, AEDs are key to an effective emergency response. In Ontario, they’re required in most (all?) public buildings. In buildings that have front-desk staff, I find that most have no idea what an AED is, much less where theirs is. It always comes down to people . . .