I've faced some profoundly tough days that return every year—days I brace for and hope will pass swiftly. These are my "days with a black border," shadowed by loss.
A few days ago marked the anniversary of my mother's passing, more than a decade ago. It's always heavy. I fill it with tasks: appointments, work, anything to keep moving. This year, it landed on a Tuesday—my usual day with the kids—but I squeezed in a hospital visit for my daughter's ear check, school drop-offs and pickups, a supermarket run, and daily errands.
Then it intensified: At pickup, my son was feverish (diagnosed with sixth disease and a tonsil infection—thankfully, he's improving week by week, poor little guy). Back home, I learned our upstairs neighbor had passed away on vacation. That day earned a full black border.
King's Day hits differently. It would have been my mother's birthday, now a nationwide party (like the King's own 😉). It's bittersweet—we celebrate a little—but it was also my grandmother's birthday, making it a joyful double in the past. Sadly, Grandma left us last year. For the first time, no cakes or gatherings, but they're ever-present in my heart.
This week brings another: Mother's Day. Without my mom, it feels incomplete, as I shared earlier. She'd have cherished watching the kids grow. It aches that she missed it. I hold onto the hope she's proud of us, savoring the kisses on her photo.
And with that, my black border days fade... until next year.
