Solstice

Yesterday was the summer solstice, sometimes referred to as longest day of the year, because it is the day we experience the most daylight during the year. That got me thinking. In 2011, the summer solstice was on June 21. On the 19th, when Mother died, the total time of daylight was 15 hours, 36 minutes and 46 seconds. This is only 8 seconds less daylight than we had on the summer solstice. When Mother died, it hit me that the date was Danielle's half birthday. Dani was born on Dec 19, 1996. In 1996, the winter solstice, or shortest day of the year was Dec 21. The day Danielle was born, we only had 8 hours, 46 minutes and 16 seconds of daylight. This was only 8 seconds more than the winter solstice.

It is quite ironic to me that Danielle was born just shy of the shortest day of the year and Mother died just shy of the longest day of the year. It seems it should have been the other way around. Try telling a woman (me) who was in labor for 35 hours and then ended up having a c-section that it's the shortest day of the year. No matter how little daylight there was that day (or rather days), it was anything but the shortest day for me. All I wanted was to finally meet my baby. (Well, that and to have the pain of labor end!)  In the same sense, tell a woman (me again) whose mother is dying, that because it's the summer solstice, it is the longest day of the year. When you know that every second counts and every breath could be her last, it feels like the day is speeding by. Her sunset was coming all too fast, regardless of how much daylight there was that day.

Now in reality, I know that there are 24 hours in day, every day, regardless of the amount of daylight. I looked up the word solstice and what I found intrigued me. The word comes from the combination of two Latin words that basically mean "sun" and "stand still". Here is what I read: "For a few days before and after the solstice the change in position of the sunrise is so slight that the sun appears to stop or stand still for a few days..."

For a brand new mom looking at her baby, time does seem to stand still. It is a moment so incredible, so breath taking that everything else around you fades into the background. All you can focus on is that little miraculous bundle. Even if there was less daylight that day than on any other day of the year, it made no difference to me. There could be no sunlight brighter than looking at my sweet little baby.

In the same way and yet so incredibly different, time also seems to stand still when you lose a loved one. When Mother died, nothing else mattered. I couldn't focus on anything beyond the devastating loss I felt. The daily routine around me faded into the background. No matter how many hours of daylight there were, I was consumed in the darkness of grief. I remember for weeks, maybe months, after Mother's death that I could be outside in the sunshine and yet nothing appeared as bright to me as usual.

Still, there are 24 hours in a day. The sun shines as brightly as ever. I know it is all about perspective, all about how I choose to look at things. Instead of thinking about what I lost the day Mother died, I should focus on what she gained. Then it makes more sense that she died near the summer solstice. Her soul is in Heaven for eternity, where God's light is never ending. Maybe instead of referring to June 19, 2011 as Mother's death date, I should call that day her "summer soul-stice".