Thanksgiving has always been kind of an indifferent holiday for me. When I was a kid, it was the signal that Christmas was finally almost here. Even now as an adult, Thanksgiving is when Christmas officially can start coming. The decorations go up, and I can start listening to my Christmas music. (And I went and found blinking lights to put up around my cubicle. If I can find one small enough- I’m going to get a mini Christmas tree. If I was really daring I would see if I could find a way to make them flash to music. But I think that might finally push them over the edge.) But anyway. Thanksgiving has always been a rather nondescript holiday. More and more, Christmas decorations are going up before Halloween, and Thanksgiving is lost even further in the shuffle. Honestly when I think of Thanksgiving, my first thoughts are Mom’s corn pie, leftover turkey soup, and her pecan pie. Which is hand’s down the best pecan pie in the world. Yum. I know what Thanksgiving is supposed to be- counting your blessings, pilgrims and Indians, family, yadda-yadda. Seriously though, nine times out of ten- it’s calories, parades, football games, Black Friday shopping, and stress.
(And pie. mmmmmmmhhhhhhh)
But I’ve been thinking a lot more about Thanksgiving this year. Kind of ironic that I start to think about what I have to be thankful for during the worst year of my life.
But I do have a lot to be thankful for. I appreciate my family more now than I think I ever have. I’ll never take another one of them for granted again. I’m thankful for the friends that I have… the ones that stood by me even when I was being the most miserable and the most unlovable. I’m thankful for all the things that everyone says… my health, my job. But it means more this year.
I just need to remember that...
(unfinished draft, posted 5-8-09)
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Christmas Trees and Elvis Songs
There should be a new law that says no Christmas decorations are allowed to be put up until after Thanksgiving. And stores should not be playing Christmas music before Halloween. And while we're outlawing that, we may as well outlaw EVER playing Elvis's "Blue Christmas". That is seriously the worst song ever. I hate it. Followed closely by "The Hippopotamus Song". "Santa Baby" is not much better.
But I could devote a whole entry to a list of hated Christmas songs. Did you know that there are 41 days left until Christmas. I know that because the beginning of November I start a countdown on our whiteboard at work. Partly because I love Christmas, but mostly because it annoys the people I work with.
I love everything about Christmas. When I was a kid, it was about Santa and the presents. No surprise there. Now that I'm a grown-up (no funny comments from you, Mom and Dad), it's so much more. It's a time to reflect about what Christmas is. It's celebrating the wonder of Christ's birth. It's Christmas trees and lights. It's helping Sally decorate the church with the Christmas poinsettias. It's the candlelight Christmas Eve service. It's the anticipation of knowing you found the perfect gift for someone and imagining the look on their face when they open it. It's in Christmas cards and singing carols and Christmas music and mom's mint cookies. And you know what it isn't? It isn't big sales and cranky shoppers and snippy retail associates. It isn't fighting about saying "Happy Holidays" or "Merry Christmas". It isn't all about the material stuff. And it irritates me to no end that something that should be such a peaceful, joyful holiday, has morphed into stress, tacky lights, and horrid Christmas songs.
When Emily was little, she wrote on a little scrap piece of paper, "Jesus is the reason for the season". It goes on the fridge every year. I know that phrase can sometimes be a bit cliche....but it reminds me of the magic of Christmas, the beauty of a child's faith. The way that a child can look forward to Santa and presents and all the "stuff" they want, but at the same time still sing "Happy Birthday" to Jesus. I think we lose that as we become adults. We get drawn into the stress and mess, and lose sight of the true beauty of Christmas. You can have them both. As long as you don't forget the main reason, there's nothing wrong with the stuff. Except for Elvis. Seriously, that song has got to go.
But this year is a different stress and mess. The very things that used to bring me solace from the commercialism are now the things I want to run away from. I love Christmas trees. Big ones, small ones, fake ones, real ones. I love white lights and icicles. I love the ornaments. One of the things on my list of things I want to see is the Christmas tree in New York. It's just not Christmas without one. I'm usually the one that decorates ours each year. It's my thing- mom does the house, I do the tree. Emily hated decorating it. She'd sit in the living room and fuss because I had Christmas music playing and she wanted to watch TV. And I'd tell her that there is something truly sacrilegious about decorating the tree and watching a Friend's DVD. And that if she wanted to watch it she could go downstairs. She never did though, she always stayed and talked to me. That memory is what Christmas is to me. It's the traditions that only a family can appreciate. So someone tell me, what am I supposed to do this year? I've spent the last seven months running away from my emotions and burying them in an attempt to keep myself from falling apart. But Christmas is something I can't run away from. I can't bear the thought of ignoring it, and I can't bear the thought of going through it. I can't bear the thought of putting up the tree, and I can't bear the thought of staring at the empty spot in the window. I'm afraid it will hurt too much, and I'm afraid it won't hurt enough. I wonder if I'll ever look forward to Christmas again, and I'm afraid that I'll forget.
I've been looking forward to the Christmas stuff that doesn't involve something I did with Emily. Decorating the sanctuary for Christmas. Putting up the lights in my office. (Again, partly because it annoys my co-workers. I'm going to get blinking ones this year). Setting out the poinsettias. Going to the late Christmas Eve service at St. Jame's in Gettysburg with my friends Sally and Mark. Playing my Christmas Cd's. Those things are safe. But I can't face our Christmas tree. Or the macaroni wreath. Or the advent calendar. Or the finger marks she never tried to hide in the cookie dough. Or the stockings. Or the million other little things that made Christmas... well, Christmas. So that's why I want to petition the powers that be that all the commercial crap has to go. If there's no commercial crap to make me want to hide myself in the familiar things of Christmas, then I won't have to face them and then I won't have to let myself feel anything.
I haven't lost sight of the meaning of Christmas. I really haven't. Even if there was no tree, Christmas will still come. Even if there were no cookies, or presents, or lights, or decorated churches, or carols, or snow.... Christmas will still come. Even without Emily, Christmas will still come. It will still be the celebration of the birth of Christ. And that gives me hope, it really does. I wonder how people who don't believe in God get through something like this. Because beneath all the trappings and bows is my faith and hope in God. I know that, and that's what I am holding onto. But even still, it hurts.
I don't think I can face Christmas, but I don't want to not face it. Does that make sense? I want to face it in my own time, when I'm ready. So I am hereby putting Christmas on hold until it stops hurting. And don't anyone dare play that Elvis song when I'm around.
But I could devote a whole entry to a list of hated Christmas songs. Did you know that there are 41 days left until Christmas. I know that because the beginning of November I start a countdown on our whiteboard at work. Partly because I love Christmas, but mostly because it annoys the people I work with.
I love everything about Christmas. When I was a kid, it was about Santa and the presents. No surprise there. Now that I'm a grown-up (no funny comments from you, Mom and Dad), it's so much more. It's a time to reflect about what Christmas is. It's celebrating the wonder of Christ's birth. It's Christmas trees and lights. It's helping Sally decorate the church with the Christmas poinsettias. It's the candlelight Christmas Eve service. It's the anticipation of knowing you found the perfect gift for someone and imagining the look on their face when they open it. It's in Christmas cards and singing carols and Christmas music and mom's mint cookies. And you know what it isn't? It isn't big sales and cranky shoppers and snippy retail associates. It isn't fighting about saying "Happy Holidays" or "Merry Christmas". It isn't all about the material stuff. And it irritates me to no end that something that should be such a peaceful, joyful holiday, has morphed into stress, tacky lights, and horrid Christmas songs.
When Emily was little, she wrote on a little scrap piece of paper, "Jesus is the reason for the season". It goes on the fridge every year. I know that phrase can sometimes be a bit cliche....but it reminds me of the magic of Christmas, the beauty of a child's faith. The way that a child can look forward to Santa and presents and all the "stuff" they want, but at the same time still sing "Happy Birthday" to Jesus. I think we lose that as we become adults. We get drawn into the stress and mess, and lose sight of the true beauty of Christmas. You can have them both. As long as you don't forget the main reason, there's nothing wrong with the stuff. Except for Elvis. Seriously, that song has got to go.
But this year is a different stress and mess. The very things that used to bring me solace from the commercialism are now the things I want to run away from. I love Christmas trees. Big ones, small ones, fake ones, real ones. I love white lights and icicles. I love the ornaments. One of the things on my list of things I want to see is the Christmas tree in New York. It's just not Christmas without one. I'm usually the one that decorates ours each year. It's my thing- mom does the house, I do the tree. Emily hated decorating it. She'd sit in the living room and fuss because I had Christmas music playing and she wanted to watch TV. And I'd tell her that there is something truly sacrilegious about decorating the tree and watching a Friend's DVD. And that if she wanted to watch it she could go downstairs. She never did though, she always stayed and talked to me. That memory is what Christmas is to me. It's the traditions that only a family can appreciate. So someone tell me, what am I supposed to do this year? I've spent the last seven months running away from my emotions and burying them in an attempt to keep myself from falling apart. But Christmas is something I can't run away from. I can't bear the thought of ignoring it, and I can't bear the thought of going through it. I can't bear the thought of putting up the tree, and I can't bear the thought of staring at the empty spot in the window. I'm afraid it will hurt too much, and I'm afraid it won't hurt enough. I wonder if I'll ever look forward to Christmas again, and I'm afraid that I'll forget.
I've been looking forward to the Christmas stuff that doesn't involve something I did with Emily. Decorating the sanctuary for Christmas. Putting up the lights in my office. (Again, partly because it annoys my co-workers. I'm going to get blinking ones this year). Setting out the poinsettias. Going to the late Christmas Eve service at St. Jame's in Gettysburg with my friends Sally and Mark. Playing my Christmas Cd's. Those things are safe. But I can't face our Christmas tree. Or the macaroni wreath. Or the advent calendar. Or the finger marks she never tried to hide in the cookie dough. Or the stockings. Or the million other little things that made Christmas... well, Christmas. So that's why I want to petition the powers that be that all the commercial crap has to go. If there's no commercial crap to make me want to hide myself in the familiar things of Christmas, then I won't have to face them and then I won't have to let myself feel anything.
I haven't lost sight of the meaning of Christmas. I really haven't. Even if there was no tree, Christmas will still come. Even if there were no cookies, or presents, or lights, or decorated churches, or carols, or snow.... Christmas will still come. Even without Emily, Christmas will still come. It will still be the celebration of the birth of Christ. And that gives me hope, it really does. I wonder how people who don't believe in God get through something like this. Because beneath all the trappings and bows is my faith and hope in God. I know that, and that's what I am holding onto. But even still, it hurts.
I don't think I can face Christmas, but I don't want to not face it. Does that make sense? I want to face it in my own time, when I'm ready. So I am hereby putting Christmas on hold until it stops hurting. And don't anyone dare play that Elvis song when I'm around.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Falling apart
I've had a revelation of sorts this week---- it's my fault that people say stupid things to try and make me feel better. Want to know why it's my fault? Because I make it hard to let people be comforting. Sounds a little crazy, but there's some truth to it. It is much easier to comfort someone who is weepy and crying than someone who puts up a wall. So because I don't crumble in front of every person who says something idiotic, it's essentially my fault that they keep talking.
Someone at church this past Sunday referred to me as "the Rock". Sunday was All Saints Sunday, and there's a part in the service where they read the names of everyone who's died over the last year. And because I'm not one to fall apart in front of people, I get called a Rock. Which translates into, "what the heck is wrong with you, you should be crying, don't you even care?" What do they know anyway? I am not a rock. I don't want to be anyone's rock. There's absolutely nothing wrong with showing emotion. Somedays I wish I could, I think it might help. But it's not who I am. It upsets me that they all think I am cold and uncaring because I refuse to share my heart with people who are virtually strangers. I don't trust easily, and I don't bare my soul to just anyone. I try and tell myself that the people who really know me understand. My parents know it. I wonder sometimes if I make it harder on them, but they know it. My friend Sally knows it. Debbie knows it. Lauren knows it. So why do I really care what anyone else thinks?
Because the truth is that I am a mess. I've been slowly falling apart for the last seven months, and I don't know how to pick up the pieces. I'm tired of putting up with people being stupid, making excuses that they say stuff because they don't know any better, and then I come off as the rude one.
I am so tired of being mad at Emily, but dangit, I am so mad I can't get past it.
Someone at church this past Sunday referred to me as "the Rock". Sunday was All Saints Sunday, and there's a part in the service where they read the names of everyone who's died over the last year. And because I'm not one to fall apart in front of people, I get called a Rock. Which translates into, "what the heck is wrong with you, you should be crying, don't you even care?" What do they know anyway? I am not a rock. I don't want to be anyone's rock. There's absolutely nothing wrong with showing emotion. Somedays I wish I could, I think it might help. But it's not who I am. It upsets me that they all think I am cold and uncaring because I refuse to share my heart with people who are virtually strangers. I don't trust easily, and I don't bare my soul to just anyone. I try and tell myself that the people who really know me understand. My parents know it. I wonder sometimes if I make it harder on them, but they know it. My friend Sally knows it. Debbie knows it. Lauren knows it. So why do I really care what anyone else thinks?
Because the truth is that I am a mess. I've been slowly falling apart for the last seven months, and I don't know how to pick up the pieces. I'm tired of putting up with people being stupid, making excuses that they say stuff because they don't know any better, and then I come off as the rude one.
I am so tired of being mad at Emily, but dangit, I am so mad I can't get past it.
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