When I was a kid, I couldn't understand why the adults in my life seemed so uninspired by Christmas. I was happy - the prospect of a few days off from school, of cookies and candy, of lights and ornaments, of family and feasting, and of course, of giving and getting presents. I believed in Santa until I was eight, maybe nine, before I finally relented that maybe Santa was more than a jolly old elf, that maybe he was the spirit of Christmas in all of us. I'd like to think that as my kids grew up, I was as big a kid about Christmas as they were. I love to get out the tree and the lights and the old battered ornaments. I love sending out Christmas cards to everyone from my family. But things have changed. There's a sadness to it I didn't want to face last year. My Grandmother Bowden has been gone for several years now, but she had been lost to Alzheimer's years before, so I didn't mourn her passing as much as maybe I should have. This year my Nana died, and my friend Sarah. And while I didn't plan on dwelling on that, when I pulled out the Christmas card box, there it was - written in black and white on the address list I keep packed away. Two names to mentally cross off my list, because I don't have the heart to put the pen to the page and do it. That's too permanent, too real. I wrote out the rest of the cards, and I guess in a little while I'll find courage to retype the list. But not right now. Not right now.
I've never been good with expressing emotions. I always felt that emotions were a sign of weakness - part of being raised as my father's "son", I suppose. Lately I'm having a hard time bottling up those things that bubble up when people start flinging arrows and stones. Some I deserve. Others, less so. Innocent comments get taken out of context and used to further some cause. I make a genuine post about an overwhelming feeling I have, and someone turns it into an accusation, based on some sort of internet statistic that proves I've posted in response to something else. Frankly, I don't see the connection. I get angry more often than I used to, but I often feel like I've been kicked in the gut too. I'm not accustomed to that one. It usually brings tears. Intended kindnesses are perceived as attempts to control. And this post will be labeled as an attempt to send someone on a guilt trip - but hey - if the shoe fits, baby, wear it out.
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