I tried, honestly I tried.

But, I still can’t find it. My spirit of Christmas is mostly missing in action. There are glimmers here and there. When I first look at our tree, I smile. Then the crashing waves of pain take over. I thought year two would be better, easier, less painful. I ache. I’m sore. It hurts physically, mentally and emotionally.

I love to listen to Avery tell me how she thinks the real Santa was at our mall the other day because he certainly looked like the real Santa, it couldn’t have just been a helper Santa. But will our child ever ask such questions of me?

I can’t wait to watch Delaney rip the paper off of each of her gifts tiny piece by tiny piece. But will I ever know if my kid is the kind of kid who rips slowly and makes sure all the paper is off? Or is our kid the kind of kid that just tears off a big enough piece to see what is inside.

I see the excited look in Chris and Lyz’s eyes when they are giving the play by play of getting one of the years most sought after toys that Avery is certain Santa can bring. I see the triumph and pride in their eyes, and I get myself all wrapped up in the excitement with them. But will I ever feel it first hand?

I see the families picking out there trees at the Christmas tree farm and I see the children pointing at this tree or that tree and the parents smiling because even if the tree was to be pathetic (which would never happen at Landis Christmas Trees) they know they would get whichever tree their child wanted. But will I ever have to sacrifice my beloved Frasier Fir for a Douglas Fir all in the name of love for our child?

In December of 2007 I wrote a post all excited about Christmas of 2008. Jenn made it clear that she would not help the reindeer eat their carrots. I would be able to buy a million rolls of wrapping paper to be forever designated as Santa’s paper. But will we ever have that chance?

I think of Christmas traditions passed on from my family, like opening pjs on Christmas Eve and a yummy breakfast of sausage, biscuits and gravy. Yes, we do both, and this Christmas I’ll be making the yummy breakfast for CLAD+J too, but will our child ever partake of the yumminess?

I’m starting to lose hope. And being hopeless at Christmas time certainly does suck.


8 thoughts on “I tried, honestly I tried.

  1. Oh sweetie, if anyone gets to call the Christmas game on account of rain, it’s you. I’m sorry, really sorry.

    Hope is such a tenuous thing. It’s such a hard thing to hold on to, the tighter we grasp, the more quickly it slips through our fingertips.

    I can’t fix this. I can’t. I will tell you that it’s ok for you to do what you can, with what you have, and that you can bow out of traditions, it doesn’t mean that you love CLAD any less, it means that when things hurt, sometimes we shouldn’t do them.

    I wish more than anything that honeydew and blue were with you.

    Sending hugs and love and care and concern. This too shall pass.

  2. I know your despair– I lived it for years too. Wondered how, and if I would ever find a way out. Hope is actually what did it. Oh, and whack loads of “self-talk”– ‘ya know, the equivalent of being your own cheerleader, your own vacuum salesman, the person who says things in a hundred different ways to sell you on the idea that you may one day get what you want. Hope kept me going, while I talked myself into believing that one day I would know why my life journey had been what it was. And you know, that is what still keeps me floating, moving, head above water. Its what keeps me believing that I CAN have what I want, I just don;t necessarily get to pick how or when.

    Ok, pep talk over. Because I also know how much it sucks to be in that place, especially over the holidays. Because the traditions and the holidays are so laden with so much emotion. I wish I could do or say something to make you laugh, to make you find that glimmer of hope and hang onto. And all I have is this lousy “e-hug”… But its something…

    I think you are awesome, and funny and even though I don’t know you outside the lines of the pages of this blog, I know that you are a good, kind, excellent person. I wish you a holiday that at least gives you some kind of peace, some kind of a plan, some kind of a SOMETHING that makes you feel happy, with direction, in some state of control over all this. because you so deserve it.

  3. IF and loss hurt everyday but so much more so at Christmas. I am sorry you’ve lost your spirit, but it is totally understandable.

    I’m hoping and praying this is the last Christmas you spend with this hurt.

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