Life gets real around the holidays. Bob died in December of 2004 of the same disease that his father died of, also in December a few decades prior to him.

I dislike the holidays, understandably. I have grown to tolerate them as my grief has eased, but they remain unfulfilling for me.

I often wonder how I have remained devoted to writing for decades. Probably because I don’t have a lot of talents to focus on. Writing is it for me. I write the first paragraph and the other ones will be a mystery to me until I have reached the end of the essay.

I study myself in both good and bad weather, psychologically speaking. I know from my own experience that life is cruel and often brief.

No one ever speaks the truth because they fear what would happen to them if they did. Society is an ornate masquerade, those that enjoy it remain at the mercy of it.

At any moment, the door can slam shut on an unwitting human being.

No arguments will bring back the dead or soothe the living.

Time is a healer, it is said; usually by those who have never suffered a severe bereavement. But believe it or not, the truth is the greatest healer, for in the truth is where God abides.

Allow yourself to open to the truth. Receive the gift of wisdom and rejoice that you have found the touchstone for your broken heart.

Tinsel and toys are for children; reality is for those who are capable of receiving it.

Acceptance is a virtue, whereas unthinking social mores do nothing for the grieving soul.

I remain outside the guild while writing outside the lines of society.

Less is more.

Find a few words to soothe your soul. “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner.” That will do for a start.

Vicki WoodyardT