Christmas is no longer Christmas anymore in the same way it was for the first 29 years of my life.
Every year, I hope it will feel different, but every year Christmas looms at me in the distance like a big fireball coming toward me ~ as I try to jump out of the way ~ in my attempt to not get depressed and just get through the holiday season. I usually breath a sigh of relief on December 26th knowing I got through another year and can then enjoy a bit of the rest of the Christmas break before I head back to work.
Just when I think to others this all may seem ridiculous, I find out another relative does not feel like celebrating this year. And then I start to worry about him and wanting to get him to participate in at least one of the activities planned this year.
Little things like buying a gift or assembling a Christmas Card are often overwhelming for me. When Nan was alive, I always managed to get one sent to her and also to the whole Sandoval family. This year, I experienced the victory of sending out my first card in nearly a decade to my longtime pen pals in Australia. That whole experience wore me out that I have not even sent out any others this year. But my dear friends in Australia will finally get a card on the actual holiday instead of some belated letter usually sent in October telling them I have moved again. Seems so bizarre for the girl who once sent out dozens of cards and baked dozens of cookies ~ and the young woman who somehow managed to finish Mom's Christmas list the year she was dying and made sure everyone got the gifts she had bought so many months before she even became sick.
So I think I just really need to accept the fact that Christmas will never be the same as long as it continues to fall on the anniversary of my mother's death. And that it does not really matter what people think of me. I have tried to make it work, and it just does not work anymore. I really cannot pretend to fully enjoy a holiday that still brings up the saddest of memories for me.
My days of trying to make Christmas special for the boys in the way Mom would have are over. The boys are grown. And the second generation of grandchildren never even knew Mom. Little Rashonda has her own Christmas memories and traditions made special by her own mother who truly seems to enjoy the holiday season. Thank God she had children to keep Christmas alive.
I still have hope that one day it will finally get better. But I need to be gentle on myself knowing that day may never come. Christmas will still come every year on the anniversary of my mother's death.
~Our Last Family Photo Before Mom Died in 1994~
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