Tis the season for cheer. And lots of friends gathering round. This is the time to sing songs you have been singing all of your life. Now is the occasion to send out cards to everyone you now know and everyone you once knew. Yep, it is time for the Christmas card drudgery.
Ever since I moved out into this great big world on my own, I have sent out cards every year in December. Except for last year. And the year before. And the two years before that. Each year I would promise myself I was going to find the time and the energy and the wherewithal to write the accompanying letter and get a nice family photo copied 100 times and we would sit down and make our cards. Yes, you read that right. Make our cards. I am NOT a crafty person. I have talents but crafts is not one of them. But, when the kids were little we started a family tradition of sitting down together and making our cards. In my mind, that was going to help us bond and we would create a magical card each year, topping the previous years’ masterpiece and eventually we would have a collection to put on display each year.
Well, about the time we really began settling into this tradition, Jim started having some symptoms that something was wrong. Which is a delicate way of stating that we were having trouble with our marriage and I wasn’t feeling jolly, delightful or ready to spread cheer to all of our friends on the mailing list.
So the first year we missed our cards, I told myself we would make New Year’s cards. We had the paper, the stickers, the markers, and the whole shebang of supplies. And then the second and third year, I fooled myself again into believing we could still do this. We didn’t. I didn’t. There was no way I could wrap my head around doing it. I briefly thought of doing the simple photo card and being done with it, but that would break our tradition, admitting I was a failure as a Mom and as a future Martha Stewart, and I am a little hard headed. So, no cards were done for 4 years.
Now it is that time again. I haven’t made a card, but my very artsy daughter, Frances, has. She has made 3 cards and is determined to make it to 10. I ordered the photos. We have 3 cards addressed, stamped and ready to be mailed. I might even use some of her supplies and make a few when I find a spare moment or two. The letter? Not going to happen. What would I put in there? Oh, life is great. We are watching Jim progress with Alzheimer’s Disease and have no idea what our life will be like next year at this time. Merry Christmas.
I must remind myself many times a day of how we never know what life holds for us. I must remind myself how down I get each year now at this time and how each year we end up having a magical, memory making holiday.
This year, I am struggling, but I do feel stronger and better than I did last year. I fight off my negative thoughts and my bitterness and my anger each moment I am awake. Sometimes I do a great job and other times I should be fired.
I miss Jim so much during Christmas time. I miss our discussions of what to get the kids and our families. One year we hired a babysitter, took all the toy catalogs we had gotten in the mail and sat at a restaurant pouring through them together coming up with ideas. I miss sitting next to our lit tree after the kids are in bed, just looking at the lights and sharing quiet time together. I miss feeling excited, wondering what neat idea he had thought of for me under the tree. I miss his help decorating, doing the cards, singing songs, watching movies and so much more. He still watches the movies and he still throws out a hum (actually lots of hums) during Christmas songs, but it isn’t the same. He is here, but he isn’t here.
We will carry on our traditions for as long as we can. We may start new ones. We may lose a few along the way. I am grateful we have each other. I love my family. I am so very, very grateful we are together as a family. I am grateful we have so much, when so many are in need. I am grateful it has been such a great year. I am grateful for all I have; yet I still feel so sad and so alone.
I miss Jim.