Christmas

I have such mixed feelings about Christmas this year.

The clerk at Hobby Lobby wished me a Merry Christmas when I was in there a few hours ago, and I teared up. I had to think, "Oh, Honey, if only you knew..."

Sunday I am going to scrub my ugly cement living room floor, and Monday it has to get painted. I'm going to do a little bit at a time, and let it dry, as I don't want vast expanses of wet paint for cats to print up. With nine cats in the house (sniff), cat prints are going to be inevitable, but I'll do my best. I shall get some small boxes from the U-Haul place down on the corner and just pack the stuff off the shelves into them and set them in the garage for now.

I am keeping Christmas in this house, if it kills me. I'm sure it will be a very sad Christmas, but not as bad as it would be if I tried to ignore it.

Vanessa has taken over cooking dinner. Chandra and I will take side dishes. I don't know what Vanessa will want me to take, but Chandra makes the best cranberry sauce in the world, so that is her contribution.

There will be the usual toast to Absent Friends; a lot more poignant than usual, and we will enjoy our meal, thankful for those of us who can be together.

I'm glad that my children are pretty much grown. I don't know how I would get through it with little ones.

I read a blog the other day, called I Promise Not to Laugh During the Seance. It is written by a young mother whose husband killed himself six days after Jim did, and she has little kids. She is an awesome writer, and I hope to get to know her a lot better. When I read her blog, I can feel the raw pain. She and I both need an answer to a very basic question: what do we do now? How can life make sense when the one we love above all else chooses to die and leave us?

I see an endless line of Christmases ahead of me, as I slowly fade into nothing but a granny.

For some reason, that makes me sad.