The 22nd day of every month...
For
many years I thought that superstitions were just a
bunch of hooey … but I changed my mind 28 years ago and
ever since then I've refused to travel or make plans for the 22nd day
of any month.
Somewhere
around the 70's I became aware that many bad things seemed to happen
on that day.
I remembered a young friend who was in a fatal car wreck on May 22,
1956. Then in May also, but in the year 1960, my father died. That
was very sad for me because I adored my Dad.
Then, of course, there was the
assassination
of President John F. Kennedy and
the traumatic effect that had
on me and the nation and, as we all recall, that was on November
22nd,
1963.
Then, as
the years passed, I was still
doubtful, but thankful,
that my “22nd of the month disasters” didn't include deaths.
However, although I still
didn't believe in superstitions.
it did seem that so many fender benders, lost wallets, a fractured
hip and every other form of discomfort or woe inevitably occurred on
the 22nd.
It wasn't until September of 1990 however that I finally decided to
take my superstition seriously. My husband finally died after a long
illness and, yes, it was on the morning of the 22nd.
I guess what it boils down to is that no matter how much I'd like to
be above the fray I have to admit that I
now
believe in, at least,
this one superstition.
Oh my gosh. I just realized that I've made all sorts of plans for today and didn't realize that it is April 22 as I write this. Forgive me for running off but I have a lot of cancellations to make !
posted by Goldendaze-Ginnie at 6:22 AM
5 Comments:
Well, I don't know what to think.
I hope it’s a good day!
Surround yourself in pillows today and don't move. We will see you tomorrow. Might be a good idea to block out the 22nd on your calendar so you don't accidently schedule something on that day.
It's not a specific day but a specific season for me: summer. We'd just moved back to Houston the summer of 1989 when my husband returned from a business trip horribly ill. We thought it was food poisoning, but tests taken at the doctor's office proved it was something else. His bilirubin levels were way too high but not high enough to mean hepatitis. He was hospitalized and seen by infectious disease doctors and others as his spleen enlarged, a lung collapsed, and myocarditis developed. We never found out what it was, but he recovered. However, doctors blamed the damage done from the illness for the stent he needed one summer a few years later. The summer of 1990, I took my annual mammo, started early because my mom had died of breast cancer. In addition, her sister, her sister's daughter, and another of Mom's nieces had had breast cancer. That summer of 1990, it was my turn to learn I'd fallen prey to the dominant-gene, premenopausal breast cancer that hits women in my family. The summer of 2016, I was recovering from my first brain surgery. The second was the summer of 2018. I had just told my husband a couple of months ago that I hoped we escaped this summer without any such problems, but I now have an appointment with a Mohs surgeon and an ocular plastic surgeon who "hopefully," she said, will be able to put my lower eyelid back together afterwards. The good news is that I'm here, dreading it but ready to get through this summer's challenge and go on. Some of us don't get into our 70's, and some haven't already had a lot of practice with resilience. However, fall is now definitely my favorite season!
So often on the 22nd of any month I remember President Kennedy's assassination. Or sometimes even when I just see the number twenty-two.
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