Days are marked for as many varied reasons as there are grains of sand in the Sahara.
Too many reasons to list them all out, otherwise you’d be reading about how I remember the same day one of my first plays was being read at a rehearsal for the first time coincided with the death of my beloved cat. Or how one day in January is shared across years and events – my brother’s birthday, my uncle’s death and the day I found I was pregnant with our first child. In fact, this week marked the 33rd anniversary of my family moving into Zionsville, Indiana during the worst blizzard in Indiana’s history.
We commemorate, commiserate, and celebrate nearly all major and some minor aspects of our lives.
I guess that is our soul’s way of keeping track of time.