I'm dreading the holidays. I wish I could hibernate for half of November until the middle of January. And somehow still get paid and dogs taken care of. It's not going to happen, I know that. December is a bit of a bomb for me. It starts with my birthday. Then 5 days later it's his birthday. Then Christmas. The month ends with what would have been our 17th anniversary. Then there's New Year's. ug. g.g.g.g.g.g.
I was trying to ignore it. But a gal at work asked me what we should plan for Christmas at the office, gift exchange, ornament exchange, secret santa? I brushed her off. But it keeps popping up. It used to be my favorite time of year. I loved to decorate, put up a tree, lights, music, hot chocolate - everything. Today at lunch I didn't mean to but I started thinking about whether I'd want to put up a tree this year.
My own tree. By myself.
Scott was fundamentally against fake trees. He loved a fresh tree that would scent the whole house. We would put up special ornaments and lights and have Bing Crosby crooning in the backround. The warmth was not just from our propane heater, it was the love of the season that we both had. Together.
If I wanted an artificial tree I could do it. If I want knitted ornaments, I could make them. I've had a turkey in my freezer since last year - I could roast it. I could try and make my own memories. Nothing really feels special alone though.
I know I'll get pity invites that will be made to seem like it's not out of pity that I'm being invited to their personal family traditions. It is nice to be thought of, that anyone would try to include me, it really is. But it's not the same. It's just that nothing feels right with him gone.
Today, all day, unbidden thoughts of him throughout the last year of his life keep haunting me. I will just have a little snippet of him laughing, no inkling of what was coming. His little quirks - like the way he would sometimes clear his throat or cough. In the early days I worried about whether or not he knew in those last moments that he was dying. I didn't want him to be scared. I'm glad that he hadn't been sick and suffering, didn't have that fear of when is it going to happen. But it's just so disconcerting. One second here, the next not. Saturday marked 18 months since he's been gone. Some days I get caught in the "it's not fair" trap. Because it's not. And I don't have the strength to find the silver lining. To only consider how lucky I was to have him for the time I did. I do know that. I do know that I was lucky to have him, blessed by him immeasurably.
But anyways. I've been trying to think of somewhere to escape to. Or do I just see if I can handle it this year? I know my puppies and George would appreciate me being home, spending the days with them. I don't know yet.
***Disclaimer: this is my grief journey. There are no answers to it. I know there is nothing anyone can say to make it better and that's okay. This is my space to just get my feelings out.