For over a month, I've been flattened by grief - living through the first Christmas without Greg, with all of the sorrow and despair of missing him - while at the same time, buying presents, making lists and elbowing my way through the myriad of busyness that accompanies the holidays - determined not to fold, not to crumble.
The closer it got to our Second Christmas, the closer I got to falling apart. Stubborn determination can only carry you so far.
There was a lot that was less than perfect this year - presents hidden somewhere in the house, but who knows where. I knew I'd find them eventually, but I didn't have them for our family Christmas.
I hide some of the children's gifts and then give them clues in the form of Dr. Seuss type poems for a Christmas gift scavenger hunt. It's one of the things they like best. This year, my clues were not written well - some things were impossible to find - some were just frustrating. Not my finest hour.
I didn't make all of the cookies I usually make. Kate and I made orange glazed orange cookies and Brynn helped me make chocolate chip cookies. The rest, I bought.
I decided to forgive myself. I did the best I could this year. Next year will be better. The end. Let it go.
I thought the end of December was more than I could bear, but it got worse. By the third of January, I was feeling the avalanche of suppressed grief beginning to envelope me. By the fifth, I was buried in the grief I worked so hard to avoid before Christmas.
Today is the tenth of February and for the first time in over a month, there are cracks of light breaking through the darkness.
Woowoo (my friendly neighborhood therapist) says that grief is a roller coaster ride. Expect peaks and valleys.
I never liked roller coasters.
The closer it got to our Second Christmas, the closer I got to falling apart. Stubborn determination can only carry you so far.
There was a lot that was less than perfect this year - presents hidden somewhere in the house, but who knows where. I knew I'd find them eventually, but I didn't have them for our family Christmas.
I hide some of the children's gifts and then give them clues in the form of Dr. Seuss type poems for a Christmas gift scavenger hunt. It's one of the things they like best. This year, my clues were not written well - some things were impossible to find - some were just frustrating. Not my finest hour.
I didn't make all of the cookies I usually make. Kate and I made orange glazed orange cookies and Brynn helped me make chocolate chip cookies. The rest, I bought.
I decided to forgive myself. I did the best I could this year. Next year will be better. The end. Let it go.
I thought the end of December was more than I could bear, but it got worse. By the third of January, I was feeling the avalanche of suppressed grief beginning to envelope me. By the fifth, I was buried in the grief I worked so hard to avoid before Christmas.
Today is the tenth of February and for the first time in over a month, there are cracks of light breaking through the darkness.
Woowoo (my friendly neighborhood therapist) says that grief is a roller coaster ride. Expect peaks and valleys.
I never liked roller coasters.
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