That time again
So tomorrow is Thanksgiving. This year will be an odd one, I think. Mom's working, Candi's doing her own thing, and my aunts, uncles, and cousins are scattered with their plans and rallying around my cousin, John, as he endures another brain surgery.
So, for the first time, I am trying to do more than just survive this holiday. I'm trying to enjoy it, and remember what it means to be thankful. I'll have my best friend, Shawne, and her youngest, Becky, as well as her oldest, Amanda, with her husband and son, Jeremy and Dylan. I'll also have here Marshall, Shawne's husband, and my own husband, Andy. They're like a surrogate family, and I love them dearly, but I have to admit that I feel a bit alone without my mom and my sister. Shawne's as close as it comes to family without the blood ties, but her kids and grandbabies are here, too. She won't be Shawne the Best Friend tomorrow, she'll be Shawne the Momma/Granny. And that's okay.
I wish my mom was here. I wish my sister was here. I don't like that they'll be remembering and I won't be there for them. But, selfishly, I wish I had someone who was having a harder time with this day than me; someone who needs me.
Anyone who has lost someone very close to them knows that the body and heart remember what the mind forgets. I've had days where I feel depressed, or just sad or melancholy. And suddenly, as I lie in bed that night, I'll realize it's the day my dad died, and I didn't even realize it until now. And now, tonight, I realize that today is the day my Nana died, and my heart has known it. I could feel my irritability and distraction today, I just wasn't in a happy mood. Not that I was in a bad mood, just...not happy. I just assumed it was due to the cleaning/cooking/stress that's been happening today. Then I remembered, I found out on Thanksgiving, but my Nana died the day before. Which brings me back to this holiday.
I don't think it matters how many glasses I see as half-full, or how many smiles I paste on my face. For me, this holiday sucks. It absolutely sucks. Which is fine, because it's not about me. [Take a deep breath. Repeat that one again.] This day, this tradition, this life, is not about me.
I am not looking forward to this day. I don't want to do it. I want to just work open to close somewhere, I want to lock myself in my bedroom with my music and my sketchpad, I want to go out to the field and walk until the day is over. But I won't.
I won't just survive this day, I won't make it about me, and I will not hide from it. I will be with my surrogate family tomorrow, and I will give thanks. I will, for the first time in a very, very long time, truly give thanks. I will look at my husband, my friends, my family in a new light. I will thank my God for every breath I take, and every precious moment I have with these people that I love.
Tonight, though? Tonight, finally alone, I can cry. Tonight, my sorrow is my own. Tonight I'll grieve a little. Because I'm just not that tough, not without drowning it, numbing it. Because even though this holiday is meant for happiness and thanks, this day also represents a very real, very relavent, very personal loss for me, and my family. This day represents not only the day that I lost someone very close to me, but it represents every person I've lost along the way that should be at that table with me, but won't. That's what makes this crap so hard, so freaking unbelievably heavy. Because it doesn't matter how many years go by, my Daddy should be here for Christmas, and my Nana should be making mincemeat pies for Thanksgiving, and doughnuts for Christmas. But they won't be there, and it freaking sucks.
So, yeah. Tonight, with the rum sealed tightly over there on the counter, I'm feeling it a bit. And I'm trying the only thing I've got left without the Captain or the Marlboros or any other blissfully numbing or at least stress-relieving substance. I write, and I listen to music, and I write some more.
And I find...peace. I feel what I have lost, but I see what I have. I grieve, I cry, and in the darkness, I feel His comfort. My tears are not the tears of the hopeless. And I think, maybe it's okay to let the tears come tonight. It's just tears, just grief, without the anger. I didn't even know that was possible. Ha.
So, for the first time, I am trying to do more than just survive this holiday. I'm trying to enjoy it, and remember what it means to be thankful. I'll have my best friend, Shawne, and her youngest, Becky, as well as her oldest, Amanda, with her husband and son, Jeremy and Dylan. I'll also have here Marshall, Shawne's husband, and my own husband, Andy. They're like a surrogate family, and I love them dearly, but I have to admit that I feel a bit alone without my mom and my sister. Shawne's as close as it comes to family without the blood ties, but her kids and grandbabies are here, too. She won't be Shawne the Best Friend tomorrow, she'll be Shawne the Momma/Granny. And that's okay.
I wish my mom was here. I wish my sister was here. I don't like that they'll be remembering and I won't be there for them. But, selfishly, I wish I had someone who was having a harder time with this day than me; someone who needs me.
Anyone who has lost someone very close to them knows that the body and heart remember what the mind forgets. I've had days where I feel depressed, or just sad or melancholy. And suddenly, as I lie in bed that night, I'll realize it's the day my dad died, and I didn't even realize it until now. And now, tonight, I realize that today is the day my Nana died, and my heart has known it. I could feel my irritability and distraction today, I just wasn't in a happy mood. Not that I was in a bad mood, just...not happy. I just assumed it was due to the cleaning/cooking/stress that's been happening today. Then I remembered, I found out on Thanksgiving, but my Nana died the day before. Which brings me back to this holiday.
I don't think it matters how many glasses I see as half-full, or how many smiles I paste on my face. For me, this holiday sucks. It absolutely sucks. Which is fine, because it's not about me. [Take a deep breath. Repeat that one again.] This day, this tradition, this life, is not about me.
I am not looking forward to this day. I don't want to do it. I want to just work open to close somewhere, I want to lock myself in my bedroom with my music and my sketchpad, I want to go out to the field and walk until the day is over. But I won't.
I won't just survive this day, I won't make it about me, and I will not hide from it. I will be with my surrogate family tomorrow, and I will give thanks. I will, for the first time in a very, very long time, truly give thanks. I will look at my husband, my friends, my family in a new light. I will thank my God for every breath I take, and every precious moment I have with these people that I love.
Tonight, though? Tonight, finally alone, I can cry. Tonight, my sorrow is my own. Tonight I'll grieve a little. Because I'm just not that tough, not without drowning it, numbing it. Because even though this holiday is meant for happiness and thanks, this day also represents a very real, very relavent, very personal loss for me, and my family. This day represents not only the day that I lost someone very close to me, but it represents every person I've lost along the way that should be at that table with me, but won't. That's what makes this crap so hard, so freaking unbelievably heavy. Because it doesn't matter how many years go by, my Daddy should be here for Christmas, and my Nana should be making mincemeat pies for Thanksgiving, and doughnuts for Christmas. But they won't be there, and it freaking sucks.
So, yeah. Tonight, with the rum sealed tightly over there on the counter, I'm feeling it a bit. And I'm trying the only thing I've got left without the Captain or the Marlboros or any other blissfully numbing or at least stress-relieving substance. I write, and I listen to music, and I write some more.
And I find...peace. I feel what I have lost, but I see what I have. I grieve, I cry, and in the darkness, I feel His comfort. My tears are not the tears of the hopeless. And I think, maybe it's okay to let the tears come tonight. It's just tears, just grief, without the anger. I didn't even know that was possible. Ha.
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