Holidays are so complicated. From the tangle of lights and boxes of Christmas decorations, to the more intricate parts of family life. Nuclear or extended. Biological or chosen. Lives are so busy, especially when little ones are involved. Work and normal life are now complicated by added bills and activities that extend normal day activities. Concerns about Covid and maintaining traditions loom over us all.
My house has been decorated since Thanksgiving. Being in a new place, it was necessary to again find new places for my favorite decorations. Some didn’t make the cut for one reason or another. Finally, I just couldn’t handle another emotional box of memories and decided the house looks just fine. Red and green pops of color cheerfully add a bit of zing to WINTERPAST (the name of my house), rather like blooms in the dead of winter.
Television commercials blast blended families of different ages and colors, all smiling and showing a Hollywood mix of smiles and laughter. Perfect people. Perfect food. Perfect dogs. Perfect packages. Perfectly romantic. I don’t know about you, but my first year as a widow is anything but. I have no great expectations that Santa is going to slide down my fake chimney and put the zing into Christmas morning. It’ll be just like any other morning around here. Oliver and I having our boring breakfasts, blogging, and deciding what to do with ourselves until nap time. Great expectations I have none.
What I do expect is to embrace peace these days before the 25th. Quiet reflection on the real reason this is such a special time of year. A time that many different religious groups choose to have their holiest of holidays, cherishing family and friends as they celebrate. I expect the scale will climb a few pounds, which I will deal with after the fact. I expect that the sadness in the pit of my stomach will be a little more pronounced for the next few days. I expect to be sad a little more than normal, the loss of VST stinging every time I see a Christmas decoration he gave me so long ago, or hear one of our favorite carols.
Great expectations will be on hold as far as gifts go. I plan to get Oliver a new bone, but please don’t tell him. He is expecting an entire bag of dog treats. Can’t do. He’s on a strict diet.
As for me, at the time of my choosing, I will open the gifts under the tree that represent my Widow Words. When VST died, I decided that each month would be represented by a word signifying our relationship. When I was unable to go on, I would focus on those words, rather like a Lamaze focal point used in natural childbirth. If it helped me birth a 10.5 lb. baby without drugs, it could sure help me get through the pain of losing VST. Just like that, they worked. At the end of each month, I purchased a Christmas gift representing the words, and wrote a letter to myself to go along with the gift. These are now under my tree. This was perhaps one of the nicest things I have ever done for myself. So, at a very quiet time when Ollie and I are ready, I will open the presents and letters, and have a very long, private cry.
My great expectation for this Christmas is that many painful memories can finally be put to rest, like melting snow after a storm. New traditions can be put in place, so that next year, when I open the boxes of decorations, sad memories of my first Christmas as a widow will be tempered with memories starring me as the Goddess of Christmas Now. I refuse to revisit Grieving-New-Widowhood, when I’ve worked so hard to heal from that point in my life. I have no great expectations. Just a wish for a quiet and lovely holiday season in which I continue to get stronger every day.