The holidays don’t do a thing for me. Even as a child, I didn’t like them. I didn’t like the stress I saw my mother under. And I certainly didn’t like the way my father would lose his temper at some point and blow up. We kids were left terrified that we would displease him even more than we were apparently doing already.
So take losing a child and mate and add that into mix and you have my Christmas story. I retreat, but that does no good. This is a cellular dismay that I cannot dislodge.
The bells that still can ring for me are keeping it simple. Indulging myself in a warm jacket or new crossword puzzle books.
And of course, I write through every emotion I feel. Winter is simply a time for me to endure unto the end. Spring always comes.
The work of the soul is endurance, after all. Learning patience, fortitude and a much stronger sense of who you really are underneath the social mask that you must wear.
Love,
Vicki
No wonder you are not a fan of Christmas.
My childhood memory is of my younger sister. She is four years my junior and a beautiful soul who loves people. Her name is Janie and she was one of only two extroverts out of the ten of us. My memories involve our excitement and anticipation on Christmas Eve. We shared a room off the dining room where the tree stood with all its magic, I see us lying on the dining room rug losing ourselves in the magical, twinkling lights of the Christmas tree. It’s my fondest memory of Christmas past. Janie has a joyful heart despite the potential of an awesome life being stolen away. She has been somewhat disabled for the last 30 years. Despite her present day suffering, her smile still lights up the room and my heart. It brings me back to those innocent years when Janie and I had no idea what awaited us in the future. Life is a funny thing and so are we. <3
I have similar memories of the tree. The old-fashioned bulb lights and the year when the bubble lights came out.
Wow, Vicki. I never heard of bubble lights. I googled them and they look mighty cool.