I'll start with the by now requisite lament of the time that has passed since the last entry. If only somehow my thoughts had a more direct method of appearing here, there would be far more entries. However, given that a lot seems to be bottling up inside lately, I suppose finding a release for it might not only be prudent, but would have the side effect of raising the post count. Not that the blog itself is the point of things, of course.
Things were actually getting better in November. I still missed Mom more deeply than I could adequately convey, but I was actually starting to feel like I was getting some balance back. I was starting to reach out for new things to do, to find ways to actually live my life. And best of all at the time, I was going to see the person whom I've considered a best friend since I was a teenager, and spend Thanksgiving with her and her husband. Getting a break from home seemed like the perfect idea, with the huge bonus of seeing friends.
To forestall anyone getting the wrong idea, I'll go ahead and say that the trip was lovely, aside from a few fog-delay inspired snafus on the flight there. Seeing my friend was awesome. Somehow, it seems that I've been blessed with one of those friendships where the time that passes doesn't truly matter. I felt as at home and comfortable with her last month as I ever have. I'm pretty damn sure I don't deserve that, mind you, but I'll take it with gratitude.
The only real problem with the trip was that time still passed, it ended, and I had to return home where the holiday season was starting to go into full swing. Normally, I enjoy the holidays. I typically see this season as a time to share with family and friends; to enjoy love, laughter, and the company of those special to you. Needless to say, the death of the most important person in my life left a gaping void which the holiday season only serves to magnify to tormenting proportions.
As a result, I've been able to feel myself sliding back into a depressed, directionless gloom. I can see it reflected it the deterioration of the household routines I was painstakingly establishing. I can tell it by the days that pass marked only by my apparent ability to continue surviving them. The contacts that I was trying to establish with people are ever so slightly eroding again, and I don't know how many times I'll be able to apologize for this and have it be accepted. Of course, I usually question why people bother with me in the first place, though that's an issue for another time. I can see all of this happening, and I can't figure how to make it stop again.
I had a nightmare Thursday night, and what seemed to be the same thing tonight, though tonight by whatever grace, I managed to awaken before things got too bad. In a very tightly compressed nutshell, as it still causes great pain, I'll just say that I dreamt that Mom was still alive, but we both knew she was dying. I couldn't stop it, I couldn't save her, and it was like we were both somehow trapped. All I could feel was an almost animal panic at the thought of losing her that only increased over time. Waking up to remember that this had indeed happened was one of the lowest points I've hit in a while. It took the course of a day turning back into night for the full panic of that to hit me. I had kind of hoped I was done with it.
It only seems to make sense that the pressures and demands of the holiday season are causing this. And it's really odd, because part of me still very much wants to enjoy the season as much as I possibly can. I'll be with family for about a week, so it's not like I'll be alone. And there are so many things to inspire delight this time of year. One of the things I have always actually liked about myself is that I have always happily retained a childlike joy in things like Christmas lights, decorations, making holidays cookies ... some of the simpler little joys life can offer. Part of me deeply wants to still be able to take pleasure in all of this.
On the other hand, part of me also wants hide and pretend none of it is happening. I can want to smash things when I hear Christmas carols. And let me tell you, there are some of them that can cause pain in only a few notes. Hearing "I'll Be Home For Christmas" is a fantastic spur to consider the benefits of playing in traffic. "Blue Christmas" has a similar effect, but "traffic" is at that point is better defined as an eight-lane freeway one is trying to cross at night... during a sleet storm... while the roads ice over. The description are purely and completely hyperbole, by the way (I promise!) but unfortunately for me, the anguish is real. I dislike the idea of truly wishing away any part of my life, but I won't be sorry to see this holiday season end. I'm torn between trying to find some joy in it, trying not to be hurt and ruin things for others, and just wanting my soul to quit bleeding.
There's an eleven-day stretch coming up, from a few days before Christmas to right after the first of the year, that encompasses not only Christmas and New Year's, but mine and my mother's birthdays. For the first half of it, I won't be alone. Right now, for the second half of it, I will be. I am not looking forward to this time with any pleasure or peace of mind.
I want this all to pass so I can go back to where I was feeling that I was maybe beginning ever so slowly to find ways in which to live again. For the very near future, though, I just want to stop another downward slide. I know well how I hide from things now - I actually had a pretty good idea of what it would probably be before - but I still haven't figured out how to put a halt to it with any efficaciousness.
All this is why I find myself here at 4:30 in the morning, avoiding the miseries of sleep once again. People will ask me how I'm doing. And do you know, I honestly don't know what to tell them. Is there a scale for these things? If so, I'm not conversant with it. Ask me twice five minutes apart, and you may well get two different, but equally correct answers. In giving those answers, however, I am grateful that I've been given the grace of friends who care enough to hear when things aren't okay, even when I don't specifically say so, and who don't stop with accepting the polite answer. When the dust settles, I hope to be able to adequately thank them one day, if such a thing is even possible.
And so ... the process of having to think through things enough to be able to express myself at least semi-coherently has once again worked to at least drain off some of the restless energy. Now I just have to figure how best to get through today. I may have to put some things off - again - but the deadlines are not set with any real purpose.
Actually, today would have been my grandmother's eighty-eighth birthday had she still been living. The day would have caused Mom her own anguish as it did every year, actually, so I suppose I'm taking after her after all. One thing I do need to do today, if nothing else, is to make a silk flower arrangement suitable for Christmas and take it to my grandparents' grave. I know this may sound like putting salt into a wound, but I truly have been giving myself a break when it comes to assuming Mom's duties such as this one. But given the day, and how very important it was to Mom, I feel like this is something I want to do. I actually have the idea of somehow incorporating a small picture of Mom in the arrangement, maybe even one of all three of them. And somehow, this idea seems like something that might inexplicably be a comfort.
As always, I love you, Mom, and I miss you.
No comments:
Post a Comment