Holidays

Holidays.  The definition of holiday now for me is:  A day that makes you feel more isolated, sad and lonely than regular days.  You don’t have to work and have hours to fill while others are celebrating with family, sharing photos on social media, talking about all of the wonderful food and company.  In the second year, very few people even asked about my plans.  My assumption is for fear that I will have none and they will feel obligated to offer an invitation.   I feel badly for the poor, kind souls who do ask, because then there is that very awkward silence when they realize they’ve stepped into something they really didn’t want to.  Then there is the other type that will hurry on to tell me of all the things I should/could do to make the holiday just wonderful for myself.

Reality – I have not changed so much that I am not happy for your ability to celebrate with those that you love.  I truly haven’t.  And if you have asked about my plans and can’t include me in yours and I say that’s fine, I mean it.  I won’t lie to you.  But for me, right now, holidays are hell.  I feel invisible, and sometimes worse, an obligation.  I’m sure this will change, but not as quickly as anyone might think.  There is a hole I’m trying to fill in my life.  And it’s double the size that I expected any time soon.

I was so hopeful for this year.  I knew I would spend the day alone.  I tried my best to prep for it.  I worked inside the house Friday and worked out in the yard almost all of Saturday and was really encouraged, really proud of myself.  This is a big accomplishment for someone who wasn’t getting out of bed on the weekends until noon, if at all.  I thought I had momentum going into Sunday.  Wrong.  You can implement every hint, trick, suggestion in the grief books, but it doesn’t change the fact that alone is alone.  I couldn’t manage church because I miss Dave so much there and get so emotional.  And especially on Easter it is filled with families together.  Breakfast out presents the same challenge.  Even turning on the TV, all the commercials and shows remind you it’s a holiday and guess what?  You’re alone.  Going outside didn’t even work.  The street was filled with cars as the neighbors entertained friends and family.  Try the computer!  But forget social media – everyone’s posts are “Happy” Easter.  I am happy in the sense I am so thankful our Lord and Savior died and rose for us and I have a life I can choose what to do with as a result.  But it is not happy when you have no way to distract your mind from happier holidays past.  How you wish your kitchen was full of the aroma of Easter dinner and your yard was full of eggs for grandkids to hunt.  Instead, the kitchen is empty and the only thing is the back yard with an empty swingset.

I was saved by my son and his family inviting me to have dinner with them in the evening and it was lovely.  I appreciate it more than they can comprehend.

Although this very much sounds like a pity party, it isn’t.  It is my official recognition of what I need to adjust to at this point in my life.  I can’t expect other people to drop their plans for me.  If they wanted to invite me, they would have.  If they had wanted to spend time with me, they would have.  The hardest part is that it becomes a roller coaster, because sometimes people will and other times they won’t.  So do you take the rides when they come?  Or do you quit riding at all to learn to protect yourself from hurt?   I don’t have the answer.  I know I’ll never say no to time with my grandchildren – ever.  And I’ll learn, over time, how to manage this.

I share this not for you to feel sorry for me, but I need to purge it and maybe it will help someone understand why I kind of go “underground” at holidays.  Someone at work on Thursday asked about my plans and I couldn’t help it – my eyes filled – and I felt stupid and she felt badly.  I don’t want to put anyone in that position.

Just know that I’m very lost and feeling very, very alone, very insecure right now.  I’m sure this is purposeful, by God’s design.  I’m sure it’s one part of one of the stupid grief stages.  I need to learn to cope on my own.  I’ll find my way.  I’m not finished with this life yet and I know there’s a lot to celebrate.  I just have to relearn how to holiday.  And relearn how to adult.