Where are you Christmas?

As I sit here with hot tears involuntarily falling down my cheeks, I wonder why I can’t feel the Christmas spirit anymore. After my last blog, I truly believed I had been given the path to putting the past behind me and to a certain extent, I have, but chronic depression is not so easily left behind as it is a lifelong struggle. Last Monday would have been my mom’s birthday and of course she’s been on my mind with that and the holidays  . . . well it’s all normal, but it’s more than that. I can’t stop thinking of the convalescent home where she passed, that is thinking of and picturing it regularly. It came to me last night that she is asking me to do something, but what? I hated that place, of all my siblings, I think I despised it the most. She wasn’t mistreated, but I could and would not accept it as her home. I knew I could never show up to visit patients and this time of year the staff is remembered by the residents’ families, so what? It came to me that I should do something for the residents, but again, what? They all can’t eat the same foods and some don’t even have an appetite. So this morning  I decided to ask one of our substitute teachers. This woman is in her seventies and still substitutes at the high school level, but at one time worked in a convalescent home and has given me more valuable advice than anyone. She did not disappoint.  She suggested I call the home and ask if there was a resident who didn’t have any family, find out what they needed and drop off a gift from Santa. What a perfect idea and of course there was just such a resident. Tomorrow I will go drop off a blanket and a stuffed “snoopy” to my “secret Santa.” I hope this will not only please “Mary” but my mom too and that I have interpreted correctly what she is asking of me. So why, with all this true meaning of Christmas floating around in my heart, am I still shedding tears as my heart continues to physically hurt? Well again, it’s easy to say you’ve moved on, let things go, given up the shame and guilt of a failed marriage you caused, forgiven yourself, but I guess it’s a work in progress. I spoke to my ex this morning about helping my daughter get a bedroom set out of the place he’s currently leaving to move into a new home (we have always been on good terms) and he basically told me she was an adult and I had to stop babying her. Is that what I was doing? I thought I was being a mom, it’s not like I was volunteering to clean her house or do her laundry, just try to make sure he didn’t have someone cart it away (because quote . . . I’m not having it moved to the new place). To top it off, it’s a set of my older daughters that she slaved over refinishing. I got angry, wondered where the man with the heart like mine went and decided to text him a few hours ago and tell him it was between him and his daughters. So there it is, the last link, the link I refused to let go of; the fact that the four of us would always be a family no matter what. This is probably a good thing, another step in the right direction, so I ask myself why are the tears still falling and am I still wondering “where are you Christmas?”

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