Farewell to the year! I had high hopes for it. I went into it with a positive mindset. I dared to think it might not be entirely terrible. Who dares, wins; my 2024 duly turned out to be entirely terrible only some of the time. But whatever upsetting entanglement or disentanglement we went through in our safe little corner of the world was hardly worth complaining about it in context with events in the least safe corner of the world. There was a genocide and everyone had to be polite about it or risk being called anti-Semitic. How terrible it would be to be cancelled! Worse, definitely, than being bombed and shot at and killed by the Israeli military complex.
Farewell to youth! Actually I saw that off the premises quite a long time ago but 2024 was my last full year before I reach the official status of elderliness. I take possession of a Gold Card next June. I’m looking forward to it. The pension, the free public transport, the senior citizen discounts – the welfare state is the best state. Old age isn’t as bad as people say. All you have to worry about is losing your sight, your mind, your will to live. Nurse!
Farwell to my daughter! This was her last year at home. Lately I have taken to wandering into her bedroom to experience the really great feeling of my heart breaking into little pieces. Her mum will fly with her to Dunedin in February to help her settle into her halls of residence at Otago. How exciting! I will say goodbye at the airport. I am dreading it. Is there a special room at Auckland airport reserved for the grieving? I suppose there already is; it’s called the departure lounge.
Farewell to school! Actually I suppose university is school – it has teachers, a classroom, the future – but the resemblance is thin. University is a concept; school is a clearly defined space, with its gate and its fence line, and its quaint little front office where for years I called in to bring in things she needed for the day. Parenting is a long exercise in obsolescence. School is not quite the last time they really need us – they always need our money – but it’s the last regular contact. She and her friends had a ritual bonfire last week. They burned all their school exercise books. “Liberating,” she said. I asked, “Is there anything left?” Yes, she said, the exam flashcards. I will likely add them to my hoard of souvenirs of her childhood.
Farewell to my big white ragdoll cat! But not yet. Not this year. I took him into the vet around about February and he said, “You’re going to have to make some hard decisions this year.” What a threatening thing to say. The cat is 14, has epilepsy, and one of his back legs is so weakened with age and meds that it often gives way; the day is filed with the soft sound of him falling over onto his side. The loss of a pet is a special kind of grief. They are so vulnerable, so delicate. But my big white ragdoll cat rallied, has gone about his life with a good appetite and long sleeps, and stays close to my side. He is on the way out. But not yet. Not this year.
