Sunday afternoons are sometimes still the most nostalgic and bittersweet times. I frequently have packed weekends, often a little too “peopley.” And it is a relief to get to Sunday evening, to pause, rest, and get into that somewhat resistant mindset of, “the weekend is over and Monday is looming.”

My bones still remember with fondness the wonderful chapter of my life with Lynn, when Lynn and I were usually together 24/7 from Friday afternoon to Monday morning. Constant adventures in nature and community events, time with friends and family, watching movies in bed, long conversations over meals, and quiet times reading our books – “alone but together.” Lynn did not typically sleep well, and so on weekend mornings, she sometimes slept in late into the morning. It was awesome to see her let herself relax and practice this tiny bit of self care. And it is still one of my favorite “feeling memories” – those quiet weekend mornings drinking coffee and watching a movie, while Lynn and our dog slept peacefully and stress free.  Eventually, Sunday evening would come, and Lynn would start her whining about having to go to work the next day (her job was very stressful). We had the informal, unspoken routine most couples have, of getting the house back in order for the week, getting our work bags ready for the next day, making sure the cars had gas, checking in about what each other’s weeks looked like. This was the 2010’s, and Lynn loved the new apps that allowed us to share a “family calendar,” so we could visually review what life had in store for the next few days. Funny to be so nostalgic for what was at the time, simply “just livin’ life.” 

My Mom passed in the Summer of 2023. In the 10 years since Lynn passed, I would frequently end up at my parents house on Sunday evenings, if even just for a few minutes to drop off groceries or help with some house task. (We only lived 8 blocks from each other.) It wasn’t until after my Mom passed, that I realized going to my parents home on Sunday evenings was subconsciously ingrained in my bones. My visits were rarely planned, but often the result of a last minute call from my Mom about needing something, or me needing to pick up something I had left at their house. After almost 2 years, I still have the thought on Sunday evenings, “I cannot get settled into my house until I check if I need to go to my parents house…” It’s a bittersweet feeling… it’s a sad reminder that my Mom has passed, a surprising but happy realization that I had subconsciously made the “reservation” of Sunday evenings for my parents, sometimes an automatic relief of “oh, I can settle into home for the night,” all the different mixed feelings. 

These days, even if I have been around people all weekend, at some point, I reach a quiet moment alone on Sunday evenings, and the self reflection inevitably begins. I have adopted Lynn’s whining about Monday looming, the self recrimination of alllll the things I did not get done, and the small sense of satisfaction when getting the house ready (to the best of my ability) for the work week. And yet… there is still a sense of unsettling on Sunday evenings for me. Maybe it’s the feeling of “lack” of someone bearing witness to this transition from weekend to weekday. Or the lack of someone to reflect on the weekend with, as well as to check in about the upcoming week. Sunday evenings are quieter outside, when everyone else seems to be settling down and preparing for the week as well. That “quiet” and stillness lends to a feeling of a “thinner veil,” as we say on Halloween; a time when Lynn, or my Mom, or my spiritual guides are more accessible. Maybe I need a new ritual that will help me feel more “settled” on Sunday evenings… watering the garden? Drinking tea? (I don’t like tea…) Something to think about…