Thursday, November 28, 2013

A year of mourning

Holidays are even worse than I imagined.

Family,  Facebook, the news - everyone's gushing about the holiday,  giving thanks for family and a "good year. "  All I want to do is scream "It's been the worst fucking year of my life."

How can everyone be so happy, so normal?  Today doesn't feel like a day for moving on. It feels like a day when the world is oblivious to pain,  to my pain. I want the control to make the whole universe stop and take a moment to think how this day might be different if we hadn't gone through the nightmare of the lasts six months. To mourn with me. To not act like this was a year like any other.

It used to be that society dictated a year or more for mourning. Wearing black. No celebrations or social events. Quiet time spent with immediate family.

Maybe there's something to that. Maybe there's wisdom in avoiding the "firsts" after a child's death. Maybe there is recognition that celebration seems abnormal,  seems callous,  feels like sandpaper on an open wound, in the wake of heartbreak.

How do I balance my need to cry and hide and mourn with my desire to share holiday joy with Shea? How do I smile and light candles,  as if this was a normal holiday?  How do I pretend it doesn't all feel too loud and too bright and completely wrong?

How can I make the thankfulness I feel for Lou and Shea and the spawn overcome the bitterness I feel for hating the holidays?

This is the first time I have ever wished I was spending the holiday season alone.

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