All I Want for Christmas

Photo from here...

Anyone who reads this knows what each and every one of us would like for Christmas if we could have whatever we wanted....We also know that's an impossibility.

We could sit and count every moment that we are missing our love. Every scenario that lacks our spouse. Every tradition that falls flat without their presence.

Or we can try to find the glow that once existed in the holiday season. We can remember the laughter and hope to feel the love that was and, hopefully, is somehow still held for us by our loved one.

There are times that I feel that the "celebration" part of December is lost on me. There are certainly moments that I fantasize about ripping off and stomping on those reindeer antlers affixed to jolly people's car windows.

But this year, I can't help but think, "What would Jeff want me to do at Christmas?" And under all my gloom and "bah humbug-ing", I find a little bit of holiday joy bubble up from somewhere forgotten.

I remember his beloved traditions - lifesaver books in the kid's stockings, homemade stuffing (dressing) in the turkey that resembled liver (he always had to make me a separate batch without the giblets), and drinking large amounts of Irish cream all day in his morning coffee.

My favourite memories involve waiting for the kids to fall asleep and attempting to be as quiet as possible while giggling maniacally over his rendition of a dark-haired, tiptoeing Santa Claus or his hilarious ways of wrapping my presents (in toilet paper for instance).

So this Christmas, I will buy the lifesaver books, stock the cupboard with large amounts of Baileys and attempt to create stuffing (aka dressing) that resembles an internal organ.

Although I will most likely forgo the strange wrapping paper, I will buy myself something that HE would have bought me. Something that would make me smile and feel loved. Something just. for. me.

And I will force myself to stop my fantasies involving vandalizing the ornamentation on Christmas revelers vehicles......Okay, maybe not. But I won't actually do the damage.

I am sure that there will be sad and lonely times. But I will be damned if I do not smile and let the warmth of his love and the love of my family warm my heart. Because, really, that is all anyone could want or need.

Tis the Season ....

                                           picture from here

.... to be jolly.
Ho, ho ..... oh whatever.

I mostly loathe this Season.
I really do.
And that ticks me off.

Because I didn't "before".
I loved Christmas and everything it entails.
It was a wonderful time of the year for me spiritually, emotionally .... the older kids came home from college for several weeks, and physically .... loved the parties, the goodies we only eat once a year .... I basically loved Christmas.

And then came my "after".
And it just so happens that my "after" began on December 18th, which is not only one week (exactly) before Christmas, but it's the birthday of my sister, my brother and my step-dad.
Oh yeah ..... it ranks right up there.
Well, it ranks anyway.

I keep thinking that this will get easier with each year that passes.
So far I have been wrong.
It has not become any easier.
I've tried .... I really have.
I've tried the whole "mind over matter" thing .... if I just don't think about it, if I just don't let myself go "there" ..... then things will be better.
Ummmmm .... not so much.
It seems that my body has a mind (and a clock, AND a calendar) of it's own.  It doesn't need me thinking about the time of year in order to feel it coming.  It pays no attention to my mind.  Sigh .....

I've tried the "distraction" method ..... if I stay really busy and make a lot of Christmassy plans, things will be better.
All that's accomplished is to make me really exhausted ..... as well as depressed.

I don't want to feel like this.
I really, really don't.
I want to make this a happy time for my kids.
It used to be.
And it sucks that it suddenly wasn't.
And that I can't seem to make it better .... or at least can't make myself feel better.

But the truth is .... I've been starting to resent this time of year .... and what has become a very huge part of it ..... the giving of gifts.
Again .... used to love it.
Used to be on top of it.
Used to have my shopping done before December 1st.
I know .... that's so obnoxious.
And SO pre-2007.

We are now past the 1st .... and I really haven't done much.
I think about it every once in a while, but then just stop thinking.
I resent having to buy gifts.
I resent some of my children for seeming to want nothing but gifts. (Note that I did not say ALL of my children .... in case you just happen to be one of my children .... and are reading this.)
I resent the feeling of being a human cash machine (to be fair, that's not just this time of year).
I resent that I seem to make some people happy if I spend enough money ..... or buy the right gift.

And I resent like hell when I hear women complain about what their husband did .... or did not .... give them for Christmas.
There.
Are.
No.
Words.

So yeah .... you can call me Grinch, if you'd like.
I'm ok with that.
Because I feel pretty Grinchy.
And I wonder if I always will?
Or will there ever come a  year when I will not feel depressed in December?
Is there some magic number of years?  Is it 5?  Because I'd totally love it if it were 5.  Then at least I'd know there's a light at the end of the tunnel .... in one more year, to be exact.

But I know there's no magic number.
For anything.
It is what it is.
Until it isn't any longer.

I will be very glad when that time comes.
And if it doesn't come .... please don't tell me.
I should have something to look forward to.
Doncha think?

P.S.  Sorry that we seem to have a running theme going of how hard December is (again, we don't contact each other about our writing, and I didn't realize it when I first wrote this a few days ago) ..... I really would've liked to have written a cheerier post, but I'm not there ..... yet.  I hope to be ..... one day.  In the meantime, I hope that each of you isn't drowning in depression from our posts.  :(

Wake me up when December ends

It’s December 1, 2011.

I bought a new car today.

My very first new car ever.

The very first car I have bought all by myself.

Something bright and shiny and new to replace the old and falling apart, frustrating and faded.

I should feel happy.

But I don’t.

I am gripped by the worst grief I have felt in months.

“A new car – you are so lucky” she said.

“I am not lucky” I wanted to shout. “The only reason I have to buy this is because Greg is dead. If he were alive, he would have fixed the old car.”

“...and all that bright, shiny money I paid for the new car wouldn’t have been available because it would have still been sitting in his superannuation account.”

This conversation never took place though.

The second half of it ... my half of it... took place in the shower as I washed off the dirt of the day like so much armour surrounding my heart.

...and I broke.

By the time I dragged myself from under the hot water, big, fat, salty tears were plopping onto the bath mat at my feet.

I gripped the door frame for support as drop after drop fell from my eyelashes to puddle onto the floor.

My whole body was heaving with silent sobs as I crawled into our (my) cold bed, and as I lay down the tears ran in a steady rivulet down my face to soak the pillow behind my head.

...and I wonder if I am feeling this way because today marks 21 months since Greg’s head and chest were destroyed so badly by the bulbar of a truck, that I never saw him again.

... or am I feeling this way because I am having to face my second Christmas alone.
....my second Christmas as a sole parent.
...trying to put some sparkle into the children’s lives to make a semblance of a happy childhood.
...trying to fake a joy that I don’t feel and trying to summon a belief in God and goodness that has long since gone.

I don’t know.

Right now, all I want to do is to sleep through this horrible season and wake up when there is some light back in my world.

Just wake me up when December ends....

Groceries

from here

The grocery store

It's been one of the biggest grief triggers for me. At first, I couldn't bring myself to go at all. Thank god for the kindness of friends and coworkers who kept my fridge and freezer stocked for the first month or so. Thank god for my closest friends who grocery shopped for me at first.

Eventually, I managed to go on my own, but only to grocery stores Dave and I hadn't frequented too often. Finally, I was and am now able to shop in "our" stores, but every time it's a set-my-teeth, white-knuckle, hurry-up-and-get-it-over-with kind of experience. There is so much Dave in every store I go to. The items we loved, he loved, the items we argued about, the times he'd reach out to snuggle me in the middle of the frozen food aisles when I was freezing from the cold air. It seems like every damn item and aisle there has some history of Dave and me.

I went to our neighborhood IGA today to get my prescription refill and a few food items. I was standing in front of the canned beans, awash in sadness. I must've looked stricken, because an employee walked by, tapped me gently and said "Oh, today isn't THAT bad, is it?"

Inwardly, I said MY HUSBAND IS DEAD!

Outwardly, I couldn't look at him and instead just continued to stare straight ahead at the damn beans. I knew if I looked at him or opened my mouth, I'd come unhinged. So I tried to think of reasons why that day wasn't all that bad. I thought of my friends, my blog, my cats, my house, my health. I got the beans for chili and hightailed it out of that store.

Eventually, it'll get easier to grocery shop, and the holidays are making it especially dicey right now. But my plan to make it easier on me is to take some cooking classes. I used to love to cook. I think I still do, it's just that I need some inspiration. I need to get excited about making new dishes again. Once I do, I figure I'll be able to focus more on that mission while I grocery shop, than on how much I miss Dave. There will be a nice payoff when I get done grocery shopping and more motivation to get it done in the first place.

The second part of my plan is to go to a brand new grocery store Dave and I never went to together. It's going to mean a substantial drive, but it's only 25 minutes from work, so it's not terrible. It's also the same store where I'll take the cooking classes.

I figure once it gets easy and maybe even enjoyable to go there, it'll be easier to go anywhere. That's the plan, anyway. We'll see how it goes.

In the meantime, grocery stores could make it easier on me (and other widowed people...oh hell, on everyone, I'm guessing) by doing the following:

1. Provide a little free booze. Just hand me a glass of wine on the way in.

2. NO CHRISTMAS CAROLS OR NOSTALGIC MUSIC! Just don't play music at all. How about a comedian's stand up act instead?

3. Samples. Distract me with yummy samples.

4. Provide tissues here and there. You never know when I'll need a few.

5. I get a free magazine just for looking sad.

6. No more carts with the wonky wheels. They make me mental as it is.

Safeway? Are you listening?

Bittersweet Christmas

I got up this morning with one important task to accomplish, decorate the front of the house with holiday lights. I've notice the number of houses in the neighborhood slowly being lit up with beautiful lights of every color. My daughter has been asking when we would show our holiday spirit by lighting up our house as well.

As I don't do anything small scale, I ventured out to find all the newest, and latest, house lights on the market. I found a nice supply at a local big box store, then came right home to get started. After setting up all the cool things I had purchased I decided that I needed more. I decided I would head across town to a department store where they would likely have something different for me to choose from. After finding just what I was looking for I decided I should use the opportunity to buy some gift wrap, stocking stuffers and a couple of new stockings for the two new people in our lives. I grabbed one for my daughter's boyfriend, then another for my own new love.

The store was filled with shoppers. The shelves were stocked high with bright holiday items, and there was the continuous sound of beautiful holiday music. As I pushed my cart down the isle I could feel the earth beneath me sinking. No the ground was not actually sinking, but my heart was becoming so heavy that it felt like my whole being was caught in some kind of quick sand. Within a minute or two I was fighting off the crowd, trying with all my might to get to the damn cashier. I felt like I could barely breath, and then it happened.

Tears.

Why does it still hurt so bad? It's been over two years since he left. It's been three years since he was here to celebrate Christmas with me. It was four years ago that we celebrated Michael's "perfect Christmas." He knew that he was dying, and he didn't know if it would be his last, so he wanted to have the perfect old fashioned Christmas he never had as a child. We did it up wonderfully. It was just that, perfect. The following year he was still around. That year he called it his "bonus Christmas." He wasn't doing as well by then, so our celebration was much quieter, and modest.

In the year that followed we had a white stocking that hung in the front room. Throughout the days leading to Christmas the kids and I filled it with hand written memories and some of his favorite treats. Last year was a bit easier, as I was busy moving into a new house, and didn't take much notice of the holiday until the last minute.

This year there is someone new. I think I will call it my "bittersweet Christmas." I've noticed a phenomena that occurs throughout my week. The days that my new love, Abel, is around I am at peace. I feel loved, and I feel quite content. The days that he is away I feel Michael's absence. I remember his love, my heart feels heavy, and I feel sad. I know that in time I will be able to better blend the love I feel from, and for, both of these two beautiful men. In fact last night I had a dream, and in my dream both Abel and Michael were one being. I remember being with the him they became, and feeling both loved and confused. I know that I continue to struggle with the emotions of my heart. I continue to seek a better understanding of who I am. Michael's husband, Abel's boyfriend, a widower, someones lover.

Bittersweet.

My life has become bittersweet.

Learn

It starts with words. Then numbers.

Your shoe laces.

Sentences.

Driving.

Kissing.

Love.

Death.

The things we learn in the earliest of ages can sometimes make us nostalgic. To have no worries but to learn what 1 + 2 equals. To clean your room. To use stick shift.

Then life happens and adds dimension and layers you could have never imagined. The warm, tingly feelings in the arms of someone you love. The heartache in battling your insecurities. This urge to surpass your limits to see just how far they'll go.

Learning becomes intense. It becomes unbearable at times. It becomes an addiction that you can't quite ever kick....no matter how much it screws you up at moments...long moments.

You learn that there is someone out there that loves you unconditionally. You learn what it feels like to be unstoppable.

You learn what it is to dream...to plan.

You learn what it feels like to have it all taken away.

You learn about loss in the most tragic of examples. From a teacher you cannot argue with.

You learn what it is like to want to give up.

You learn what it feels like to want to die.

You learn what it feels like for time to pass...slowly...too slow.

Then you learn what it is to survive.

What it is to really wake up.

You learn that you were wrong.

You learn that their love never left you.

You learn that you are strong.

You learn to live....again.

You learn.

And you learn.

And you go from loathing life to embracing it once more.

And you are unstoppable.

And you learn.

Immovable Objects vs The Business of Change

The Business of Change that I started back in mid-September continues on. There’s just so much stuff to go through and just so little willpower on my part. Despite all the difficult work packing her 118 pair of shoes into boxes, only one box has made it to a new home. (I remind myself that one is better than none – and even one is still a change.) That one box full of Adventures Not Taken was dropped off yesterday. I’m sure the nice lady at Safe Place found it odd that “Do you need a receipt?” was a reason to burst into tears. But I took the receipt, tried to drive straight and by the time I was half-way home I had stopped crying. That’s a real improvement.

Two weekends ago, I attacked a different part of the house, the back closet, where I uncovered landmines I didn’t expect. You’d think that things that have gone untouched (even unseen!) since Maggie and I moved into this big house would be way easier to sort through than, say, shoes. This was the closet where Maggie and I stuffed things we carried with us when we moved in but didn’t want to throw away. We’ve all got such a place filled with random stuff. Yes, you know the place.

Eventually it looked as though the closet had thrown up on the living room floor. I unpacked Halloween costumes from all the years we were together. I found her memory boxes full of newspaper articles she had saved, letters from old boyfriends, report cards, school reports, and even a picture portfolio from high school when she was trying to make it as a model. I even found the piece of paper on which I wrote her phone number for our first phone call and, just to the side of that, her address so I could pick her up for our first date. And this is just the stuff I saw. I didn’t dig but there a number of boxes I haven’t even opened yet.

Two things kicked me in the heart more than everything else that day. The first was an unusually large, unmarked white box that stuck out because of its size and the way it was carefully taped shut. Curious, I cut it open. Inside was a sealed plastic bag. Inside the sealed bag was a wedding dress. And in an instant, like a flash of insight, I also realized that the big bundle of frilly stuff I kept moving around the living room was her wedding headdress, complete with hair clip that I hadn’t even noticed until that very moment. Instant, painful clarity.

The second kick in the heart was in discovering the contents of a simple duffle bag. It definitely wasn’t something of mine. It was old but in very nice condition; it had obviously been well cared for. I pondered not opening it but I had to know what such a bag could possibly hold. After unzipping the zipper, I noticed two pink ribbons tied neatly in bows. The ribbons were carefully wrapped around a very soft, worn pink blanket that was rolled up perfectly into a neat roll. I couldn’t imagine what it could be. It was old but soft, fluffy and pink, kind of like the one someone would use as a …. A baby blanket, a very old baby blanket, I’d guess right around 36 years old.

…..

As of today, the Halloween costumes are gone; I took them to Goodwill this morning. This past weekend, I threw away a full trashcan of nonsense stuff that, as I did, I wondered what the heck we were saving this crap for anyway. But still sitting in my living room are several boxes of papers, folder, trinkets and knick-knacks, most of which the significance is only known to Maggie. Most notably there sits one large, nondescript white box that’s been recently re-taped. Beside that sits an old, simple, well-kept duffle bag.

The Business of Change meets the immovable objects.