Blue Christmas

I hate this Christmas season and everything about it. Maybe it’s because it’s 2020 and only fitting that it conclude on a Grinch-y note. Maybe it’s because this is the 4th holiday without my boy and the other three have passed in a fog that no longer lingers…grief to me now is clear as can be and it hurts. No more shock to ease the reality of it, no more platitudes and well wishes that bring comfort (because I have now heard everything under the sun that is meant to comfort a bereaved individual), and the endless flows of texts and messages that once reminded me that people were thinking of us have now slowed down to a trickle. It’s fine. I don’t expect nor anticipate for others to behave in a way that caters to me and my needs. I try to be self-sufficient and self-reliant, but when you’re doing everything you can just to tread water plus meet the needs of your family, it never seems like what you’re doing is enough. It’s never enough. There’s always more to do and ways you can be better and do better, and nothing brings out all my inadequacies and insecurities quite like this time of the year when all is merry and bright for so many.

December has always been difficult for me to handle, even before losing Carter to suicide in 2017. My mother would sometimes go for months prior to December without abusing drugs or going on benders and a sense of hope that she was finally getting her act together would overtake my Nana and me…we would tell ourselves that this time she was really changed and different. Yet, December would roll around and she’d seemingly almost purposefully find ways to ruin it for us. My birthday is on the 9th. I was in a car accident one year with her on that day…she was messed up and couldn’t drive in fair weather much less the snowy conditions that year. Another year she was so wasted she completely forgot about me until my Nana called to remind her. My father was no better…he hardly ever acknowledged my special day. Sometimes I would get a letter from prison or something that he made out of popsicle sticks like a little church building or a ship. On the years he was out and free, I’d get something that I would have to pretend to like…he had no clue what I was into or what was appropriate for my age, so I had to pretend to like the bedazzled red sweater one year that had more bling on it than the best of Tammy Faye Baker or the jewelry that was gaudy. Bigger is not always better, you know?

I haven’t spoken to my mother in nearly a year, so imagine my surprise when a day before my birthday this year she showed up to my house. I quickly scooped up my toddler and ran to the back of the house in an effort to avoid her and prayed that Carsen, my one-month-old, would remain quiet in his swing. His room is at the very front of our house, so if he cried, she’d know we were home. After what seemed like forever, I came out of hiding to find that she had left birthday presents for me on the front porch. I never opened them. My mother-in-law took them to a donation center for me a few days later. Yes, I’m bitter. I’ve got 39 years of drama and heartache built up regarding her, and it doesn’t just go away because she’s having a good day/week/month and wants something to do with me. I’ve conditioned myself not to give into the hope that things are truly different, so now there’s nothing left except avoidance and self-preservation.

My husband knows that I don’t like celebrating my birthday, so he didn’t try to over-compensate this year like he usually does. He just quietly put a small box on the kitchen island that morning and walked away to take our teenage daughter to school. I opened it by myself. Later on that day I used birthday money from my in-laws to print out 3 years worth of photos from 2015-2017 saved on my phone because I really wanted to finish the photo albums from those years for Carter and Caroline. Yet, 2017 was the last year of pictures for my sweet Carter, and it hurt sitting in the Walgreens parking lot that night flipping through them. Joseph called and asked where I was and when I told him he said he knew that I was struggling and he wished he could help me. How do you help someone who just wants to fast-forward into another year, or better yet, into another realm where heaven is real and this earth and all its sorrow is nothing but a memory?

Another thing I dislike about my birthday is feeling like I’m a burden or obligation. I don’t like the thought of people spending money on me two weeks before Christmas, so I’d rather they didn’t. I also don’t want to be fussed over that day just because it’s my birthday if I’m not valued any other day. It feels fake and phony, so I’d just rather not. Joseph wanted to take me out to dinner. I declined. We don’t regularly eat out together or have date nights anyway, so I didn’t feel the need to go someplace special.

I took a break from social media thinking that it would help me, but it didn’t make all that much of a difference, so after a few weeks I decided to log back on. At least I’m able to share snippets of the kids’ lives and document their milestones. I try to ignore the rest of what irritates the piss out of me. They say that “comparison is the thief of joy” and I think that is true. Nothing like looking at perfect Christmas trees with perfect presents underneath and perfect family photos with perfect matching outfits and perfect family outings with perfect captions and highlight reels to make me feel like what I’m doing (or trying to do) isn’t good enough. My tree isn’t color-coordinated and my presents don’t have pretty paper or bows. I tried to do a family photo session last month which was a disaster. I don’t have pictures of me with my kids outside of the selfies that I take with them. We hardly ever go anywhere together as a family or do anything that would warrant a witty caption. The only thing I know I’m good at regarding the holidays is baking, so I have baked the HELL out of shit this week. Martha Stewart ain’t got nothing on this girl. In the past week alone, I’ve made 10 different types of homemade Christmas candy, two cakes, a cheesecake, and two sets of cookies. Most of it has been given away as gifts. Tomorrow I will start the hardest part…baking and decorating the sugar cookies and gingerbread men. Those remind me of Carter the most because he was so artistic and enjoyed it so much.

Christmas music gets on my nerves. I can’t stand most of it. I can’t get more than 15 mins. into a Hallmark movie before I change the channel. Church is no longer a sanctuary or haven for me. I spend most of my time hanging out in the nursery with Carlen or Carsen or comatose in my pew because I’m sitting with nothing to do so my mind shuts down and in my exhaustion I just quietly nod off. It’s not the Pastor’s fault. I’m sure his sermons are quite lovely. I just can’t concentrate longer than 5 mins. because I’m so tired. Taking care of two kids under two while being a stay-at-home mom most days and working a part-time job on the weekends is like running a marathon but never crossing the finish line. It’s a bone weariness.

Coupled with grief and dealing with an auto-immune disease, I’m utterly and thoroughly wiped out. I’m doing “all the things” but it’s never enough. I wash the same set of dishes over and over, sweep the same floors, fold the same clothes, and still I want to scream. Why? Because I have a husband who won’t hang up his own clothes, a teenage daughter who will leave dishes and plates in her room for days at a time, and nobody in the house apparently knows how to turn a light switch off. I did an experiment the other week where I decided to see how long it would take before someone would pick up something from the floor that was an obvious hindrance but not big enough to be hazardous. It was a small red bean sack that Carlen had dropped in the hallway and very noticeable because of its color. Everyone had to pass by it at least 10-15 times a day. It stayed on the floor for a week before I finally gave in and picked it up myself. It’s things like this that drive me insane, and I know I’m not alone because I see FB rants from others from time to time detailing the same sort of thing.

Gee, you may be thinking… you’re coming down awfully hard on your husband. Wonder what he thinks when he reads what you write? Well, the thing is…he doesn’t read what I write. I thought he did until he made comments last month that made it apparent he hadn’t read some of my recent blog posts in their entirety. When I commented about it, he said that he just skims them. Okayyyyyy…. good to know. I pour my heart out on here, but even he doesn’t want to read what I have to say. I’m not a YouTube video, golf course, or silly meme. I’m just me, and it’s not good enough for even him to want to pursue or appreciate.

It’s OK, though. It’s not like we’re getting a divorce or in some kind of existential crisis. We’re married and in a hard season. It won’t always be this way. God knows we’ve been through hard times before and made it. We just celebrated our 24 year dating anniversary on the 19th. Well, “celebrate” isn’t the right word- more like “acknowledged” it. He wished me a happy anniversary sometime in the middle of the night when his CPap machine woke him up (he has ordered a new part for it but it hasn’t arrived yet) and discovered that I was awake. I didn’t hear from him for the rest of the day and when I came home from work later that night, he was already in the bed. Very romantic, I know.

So, there you have it. I don’t like this time of the year as evidenced by this post and felt the need to share in case you’re like me in some of these areas (God, I hope not all of them). Normally when I write, I will post on social media that a new blog post is up, but I won’t do that this time. The only people who will come across this are the ones who have signed up for notifications. I don’t want to post this and people scroll and do an eye roll and say, “Here she goes again…” I know people get sick of hearing about my struggles. I get sick of myself, too, but I need some way to vent and to have what I say “out there” in order to release it and that’s the intent of this blog. I’ve said before that I didn’t want this place to be all about me and my struggles with grief, but sometimes that’s what it has to be about because this is my story, too.

Dear Carter,

Mama’s having a blue Christmas this year. Like Elvis crooned, “Decorations of red on a green Christmas tree won’t be the same, dear, with you not here with me.” How true that is. How I wish you could be here with me while I finish holiday baking. You were the best at decorations. I wanted to get your Christmas pictures that I discovered in your room upstairs matted and framed so we could add to the drawings of yours that already adorn our walls, but it didn’t happen this year. Maybe next year. I also planned to take Carsen to get him a pottery piece made at Hearts of Clay to continue the tradition, but that didn’t happen either. I bought stockings for the kids this year, but they are still on the kitchen stool waiting to be hung on the mantle. Daddy said he would get some nails to hammer into the mantle. We’ll see. I have your gingerbread stocking in the safe and will always think of you when I see or smell gingerbread.

I dreamed of you two days ago while taking a nap on the couch. I was only asleep for maybe 30 minutes and was so upset when I woke up and realized it was a dream. I wanted so badly to go back to sleep so that I could see, hear, and feel you. In the dream, you told me the reason for your suicide. You had also gone away and come back for a second time in the dream and I was begging you not to leave me again when I awoke.

Thank you for visiting me and for allowing me a fresh glimpse of you even though it makes me long for more. I’m just selfish that way, sweet boy. I love you so much. Daddy shared a video clip on FB last week of you singing with your school chorus about a “Beautiful December”. Your voices truly sounded heavenly that day. I’m sorry I stayed at school for that assembly and didn’t ask off to come see you in person. I came to most of your programs but missed that one…probably because my students had exams that day. How stupid and foolish of me not to have attended. I put work before you that morning, Carter, and I will add that to my long list of regrets.

I’m sorry, baby. I hope you will forgive me. Maybe one day December will be beautiful for me again. Sending you all my love along with a bazillion Eskino kisses and boop pokes in the arm to heaven today and wishing you sweet rest and peace this Christmas…

Love,

Mama