I have been shoring up the defenses. "The holidays are hard...". Every friend that has recent experience with loss, everyone with one ounce of common sense even, will share that information with me. Not to be mean, just a way of saying they understand, they commiserate, they're there for me. So I prepared. I have stayed busy. I had company. I had the kids around. I cooked. We shopped. Busy, busy, busy. The holiday, Thanksgiving day itself, was great. We had fun. It wasn't until today, with everybody gone again, that the reality, and the realization of what "The holidays are hard" really means.
Dropping nephew Zach at the airport on Saturday was bittersweet. We love that kid. (Not really a kid, but a kid to me!) We'll see him at Christmas, so we said goodbye, and headed on to more busy-ness. The girls crammed in last minute shopping and nails, then spent the last night with their respective friends. The quiet was relaxing. I watched a little TV with kitten Isis on my lap, then went to sleep knowing it was the last night of a full house. Still, I thought I was prepared. The holiday was past, I made it, no breakdowns. I had answered everyone that checked on me. I held my head up, I held grief at bay.
Unfortunately, all my shields can't stop the slow tide of sadness that creeps around the edges and invades my mind and my heart. I noticed the feeling before the girls even woke up. I did the usual, and hid it away. Even my own mom says "she hides it very well....". I can't help it, it's natural. We got the girls fed, packed and ready. Little Isis got in the car, and they were off down the road. One or two tears rolled, but I found things to do.
After I finished a few regular chores, I decided I could at least put up the Christmas tree. We didn't get to that. No decorating, just put together the three pieces of the pre-lit tree. Easy, and a start. I love this tree. I've only had it two years, it's ten feet tall, pre-lit and beautiful. I brought it in, got started, and when I got to the top, the third piece, one whole section of lights was burned out. I unplugged and re-plugged. I changed the fuse. I changed three bulbs and said forget it - I'm going to get a new string of lights and just put it on top of those.
I threw on a decent shirt, put on my shoes and drove to Walgreen's. Two strings of clear lights were left, and one of them was mine. I paid, got in the car and wham - it hit me. I sobbed so hard on the way home I'm surprised I could drive. I kept thinking "This is what everybody told me - the holidays are hard!" It wasn't putting up the tree, it wasn't even the burned-out lights. He would not have fixed the lights - the tree was my domain. The big sadness was having to face and deal with the problem in silence. I would have been able to complain to him. Those burned-out lights actually gave me a bright "light bulb moment" of my own. A huge part of our married life and any family life is that we can complain to each other. And, being married, or being family, you support that other person. I miss the person I could "bitch to". I miss him making fun of me when I complained about silly things. That's why I think the holidays are hard - there are more very happy and very stressful moments than at other times. And sharing those moments is a habit. I had to have a good cry about missing my sounding board. The expected holiday breakdown had arrived, uninvited and unwelcome. It passed when my super-friend made me get up and walk, as we do most nights.
After the walk, I put the new lights around the dark area of the tree. It looks perfect now. What's dark can be made light again. The burned-out bulbs are still underneath the new ones, though. Hopefully they "hide them very well". Bring on Christmas. I'm carrying my tissues.
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