Christmas Day 2017

There are at least a ½ dozen squirrels playing leap frog and chasing each other all over the backyard, leaving trails in the snow. The cardinals, in pairs, are feeding at the bird feeder as if it were their last meal. Steam is rising from the heated water bowl. 

It's Christmas morning – and the world outside my window is as it should be – quiet, sunny, snow covered as if  powdered sugar exploded all over everything.

By this time of the morning there should be open boxes with gifts spilling out of them, piles of torn wrapping paper everywhere – ribbons and bows a jumble on the floor – a merry mess – coffee cake crumbs littering the table next to the half drunk cups of coffee, the egg bake already in the oven.  And the pups sprawled out on top of this glorious disarray.

But not today -  it is not as it should be. Six plus months and I still have a hard time believing that he is gone forever… 

The tears have a mind of their own - they come and go as they will – there is no stopping them.  The sorrow is so deep – sadness is a permanent part of me – and I suspect will remain deep in my soul til I breathe my last.

In all fairness, though, I have been comforted by the most unlikely people – friends of friends, my new church family, friends old and new.  And I am grateful. It helps, but doesn’t erase the grief. Nothing can. Not today. Probably not ever.

Somehow I thought that I would be able to sail through Christmas without a second thought, or at least with minimal angst.  Wrong.

Glenn loved Christmas. He was the one that always put up the outside lights and decorations -  Santa snuggling the angel.  He was the one that always put the lights on the tree that we would cut down together.  He would always help with the gift buying and even the wrapping. He was the one that got the Christmas cards addressed and signed.

He was the one who would always wrap 2 lumps of coal for me to exchange for a thoughtful gift.  He was good at picking out gifts that he knew I would like ( well, most of the time!) He was the one who would put an orange and nuts in my stocking because that’s what my mother used to do.

Its not fair – not fair that the stockings hanging on the mantle will not be filled – well, except for Hunter’s… there is no one to fill mine with coal, oranges and nuts.  No need to fill his and Vespa and Rocky won’t need any more chew toys either.

It’s not fair that the cards I receive now are addressed only to me. The ones I give, signed with one name….

It’s not fair that it’s so quiet I can almost hear the ghostly footsteps of dogs and spouse no longer here……

But grief and sadness do not know of fairness – I know that, but still…………I know I’m not alone in this – but still…………it’s not fair.

In fact, it’s got wrong written all over it………..

But I will spend time with family today – sharing laughter and maybe tears - a meal together. A communion of sorts…and we will remember those who are no longer with us ....and they are legion…..

Is this how Mary felt on the 1st anniversary of her son’s birth after his death?

I imagine she did.