My brother died at Christmas. We have fought to have Christmas most years since. Sadness. memories, bad ones. Last year Christmas was so dark.
Good lord, are you still even reading this?
I was wrapping gifts last night. I was flooded with Christmases from so long ago. The sweet Christmases when I was a child and all the kids were there. All four of us. Before addiciton and depression took my brother and sister away. But as I loaded boxes, folded tissue paper, removed prices, dispensed tape, they were just memories. They did not yoke. They did not tie a concrete block around my ankle and throw me off the deep end. They did not tie me to empty graves. They were just feelings.
Melancholy? Yes. Edge of depression? No.
Wow. Is this what "normal" people feel? Just memories and love? Not fear and loathing? I think I grew up this year. I have been present with this Christmas. I have not been a grinch. I have done all the tasks I always do but they did not feel like a burden. For the first year EVER.
This year has brought such fatigue, pain, anger and love. A grand miracle came this year, some smaller miracles as well. Can a miracle be small? A miracle can be large. That is for sure. I had one of those. I haven't shared it yet. But the timing was miracluous which is redundant. A birth. A saviour in a sense.
I look forward to my little family this year. My brother here with me. Mother. My husband and daughter. The other daughters seen and to be seen. All in order just for now.
And I feel grateful. I receive these gifts.
I fought for them and I am going to enjoy them.
Let's have a cup of hot chocolate, sit with your holiday lights.