Sweetest Day

Saturday was Sweetest Day. If you’re not familiar with the holiday, know that you’re not alone. It’s not a very widely publicized holiday, and you won’t find many greeting cards for Sweetest Day. (The history of Sweetest Day goes back almost 100 years).

In our family, Sweetest Day meant I gave my guys (my husband and son) a card and a small surprise.  But then it was off to regular Saturday chores, like doing laundry and going grocery shopping.

But this Saturday was a little different.  I had an MRI scheduled Saturday afternoon.  The last time I had an MRI was two years ago so the doctors wanted some current images to see what was happening with my left leg. 

This MRI (probably the worst one I’ve ever experienced, but that’s another blog post) really demonstrated how our family does Sweetest Day.  While my husband and I were at Cedars Sinai for more than two-and-a-half hours, our son was having a great time hanging out with Grandma and Grandpa (my parents).  My husband had taken the day off work to be with me.  Well-meaning friends wrote me emails and texts wishing me luck and sending me love and “thinking of you” messages.

When Ryan saw me after the MRI, he was concerned. I had an identification bracelet around my wrist and a bandage around my arm (a “contrast” had been injected into my arm).  Ryan looked at me, gave me a kiss, and said we needed a big, big hug.

He was right.  I did.  My Sweetest Day may not have been filled with chocolate flavored sweets, but it was still sweet in its own way.  It made me see how many people I have to count on during these not-so-sweet moments.


2 thoughts on “Sweetest Day

  1. I marvel at your positivity, Wendy. You endure a traumatic MRI and are STILL able to see the sweetness in the day and in your loved ones.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.