This year has sucked. I could leave it simply at that, but I think I need more elaboration. This year has reached right into the souls of people and sucked away light and happiness at every turn. It isn’t that there hasn’t been good things to come of this year, Felix namely, but for many the bad just out number the good by a wide margin. It is my sincere hope that when I look back on this year it will not be visions of my mother’s death, the plague that too many blatantly downplayed, the hell my husband’s job has put him through, my husbands cancer diagnosis, and my quitting the job that I kinda really loved, that I see. Instead I hope it is just Felix’s smiling face. The ever happy chunk baby that came into this world one day before all hell broke loose. The boy who, despite never really experiencing the world outside of these walls for 9 months, still finds joy every single moment of it.
My intent with this blog was to use it to help me heal, navigate, and rebuild. Writing has always been my outlet, but this year was a really bad year to try to stick to something. The depression monster has loomed over me since January (when my mother passed away), and has rarely allowed me to see the light of day since. The pandemic, staying home with a toddler and infant all day every day with no breaks, my husband‘s job and the accompanying anxiety, depression, and frustration he felt, the big C making a debut into our family vocabulary - it all just piled one. So this project, like so many in my life, took a way..way...way backseat to everything else.
So here I am again, in an attempt to start something that will help me air my feelings in my most wordy, heartfelt, unfiltered manner. For who? Me. If anyone else reads this, I don’t mind. This is public, so it very well could be found. Maybe someone will read it and it will resonate with them and they will feel less alone. Fuck knows I feel alone a lot, even though I am never alone with a toddler glued to my side, and an infant bouncing in my arms.
The Holidays
This whole year I was naively looking forward to the holidays. I was looking forward to losing myself in the details of the holidays. As a teacher I never had time to prepare and set up my home for the holidays, but being a SAHM, during a pandemic - time is all I really have. Even if I don’t have most of that time to myself, I can still put up a Christmas tree or change a tablecloth to a seasonally appropriate one.
I wasn’t ignorant to the fact that my first holiday’s without my mother were going to be hard, I was just hoping that my depression about it all wouldn’t be as deep and dark as it had gotten. You see in the beginning of this pandemic I was like, “Heck ya, introvert is ready for this!” but after 9 months of this, I am so very done.
So, consider that I was dealing with some nasty postpartum depression, pandemic amplified anxiety, toddler at home and at my side 24/7, mommy guilt for not loving that I get to spend ALL this time with my sons - and here I thought some holiday music was going to solve all my problems.
James was diagnosed in October, and thankfully he was able to have the surgery to remove his kidney and the two masses in November. That left me, however, holding up the childcare front and the home care front. Let’s just say, I have no idea how single mothers and military wives survive, seriously - ya’ll are amazing. Thanksgiving was only a few weeks removed from his surgery, but I had the meal ordered from the grocery store, and it all seemed to go well. It actually felt like I got that holiday covered. I enjoyed the intimacy of it all.
I didn’t have any huge feelings of sorrow over my mother with Thanksgiving. I missed her, but it wasn’t /her/ holiday. She didn’t /make/ that holiday. But, I didn’t consider that fact at the time and was given a false sense that Christmas would pass with a similar nostalgia to it, but no dramatic ugly face crying.
So, I planned our meals. I began shopping. I went way overboard. I was compensating without even knowing it at the time. Then, I hit my wall. The tears of overwhelm would just flow as if I had sprung a leak because the pressure had gotten too high. There was screaming. There was feeling like an utter failure at being a mother and wife. Basically the whole of December was met with depression like I had never really experienced. It was deeper, darker, and more devastating than anything I was prepared to feel.
I didn’t decorate the house like I wanted to. I’m thankful a tree got up and a mantle adorned in decor was possible I wanted to do justice to christmas like my mother did during my childhood. I wanted my son to be wide eyed and agog at the magic around him.
Christmas arrives. The floor is lined with presents, three to four deep in places. Mostly for Demond, my two year old. He’s just discovering the magic of the season, marveling at Santa clause, and just discovered the fun of unwrapping presents. I wanted everything to be magical for him. Our traditional omelet breakfast was thrown out the window when we thought that no one was coming for Christmas ( my brother and his GF surprised us, and my dad actually made it to breakfast). We had an egg casserole, and a French toast casserole. Both were pretty good, but it wasn’t the tradition. Moseying on after the meal to the hearth room, we began with stockings. James and I opted to do ours at a different time, so we could totally focus on the boys (mainly Desi’s reactions to his gifts).
There were too many presents. Everyone remarked on how there were too many presents. It was overwhelming for James, Desi wanted to play with each toy as he unwrapped it. It took hours. My dad and brother bounced after a few hours of it.
The day went on and other things happened. All the presents were eventually unwrapped, James and I unwrapped the ones we got for each other. The whole time I felt like I fucked up. I fucked up christmas because I over did it. I was compensating for my mother, the master giver, not being there. I was missing her smile. I was missing traditions. By the end of the day I was actually hating Christmas, which has always been my favorite holiday of the year. I was hating it and internally cursing it.
Holidays are supposed to be happy. Magical even. I don’t know how to do that without my mother. She seemed to do it effortlessly. I am sure that behind the scenes there was chaos, but I always felt the magic - not the chaos. That’s what I want for my boys. BUT also.. that I don’t end up hating the whole season in the process.
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