31 Years

Yesterday was my birthday. I am now 68 years old. So weird to type that number. I still see myself, in my mind’s eye, as 20-something – thinner, clear skin, auburn hair, no circles under my eyes. Now I am much curvier, a few wrinkles, white hair taking over the auburn, circles under my eyes…and still I don’t feel what I thought 68 would feel like. And, although people celebrate birthdays as major milestones in life, I celebrate another milestone, today, the day after my birthday.

Today, I am 31 years clean and sober. On January 31, 1993, I took my last breath of cocaine, my drug of choice. I had spent the previous November (1992) in rehab at a facility in Newport RI called Edgehill (which no longer exists by the way), talked my way out early (very addict-like behavior) and got home in time for Thanksgiving. By the 1^st of December I had picked up again and was on the way to destroying my life – again.

Only this time, I couldn’t hide it. Doug knew when I was high, and he wasn’t going to deal with it. And there was my son to think about. He was barely two years old and even though I didn’t stay the entire 30 days in rehab, I had learned enough that I knew I would lose him and my marriage if I didn’t stop. Even still, it took a few months for me to realize I had reached bottom and I had to quit. The thought of Doug taking my son and leaving was something I couldn’t accept.

I planned it out. I chose my birthday to be the end of the vicious cycle my life had become. It made sense since 12 years previously, on my 25^th birthday, I snorted my first line. That day in 1993, I made a purchase, sat in my music room, alone, did it up and let go. I cried. I was so freaking scared. I had no idea if I would succeed or if the siren song of that drug would pull me back. It was a terrifying, exhausting few hours.   

The next morning, I went to my first of 90 meetings in 90 days. There, I admitted that I was powerless when it came to my drug of choice. I turned my life over to a higher power – the ever-loving Universe in my case. I asked for help. I got a sponsor. I lived the serenity prayer, day to day, sometimes hour to hour, sometimes minute to minute. I promised myself each morning when I woke up that for that day, I would not pick up. Just for that day. And so, my journey began.

It was not easy at first. The obsessive/compulsive part of my addiction kept my mind wandering back to the “good times”. I dreamed about it. I craved the high. It was, in a word, awful. I didn’t think I could continue to go through the process of healing. I thought it was too hard and the thought of failing made it even worse. All I wanted was to be well again. I wanted it right away. I wanted to get back to my old life, to the clean me. But a wise person, speaking at a meeting one day, asked the group of addicts and alcoholics sitting rapt before him, to think about this. “If you drank for 10 years, that means it took you 10 years to walk into the forest. How the fuck long do you think it’s going to take for you to walk out?”

That hit me like a ton of bricks. It made so much sense. For me, personally, I had been using for 12 years. The thought of it taking me 12 years to get back to feeling normal was overwhelming. But soon, after many meetings, and listening to others’ experiences, staying clean, and staying away from the people, places and things that could trigger me, I got better. One day at a time five years went by. Then ten. Then twelve. And suddenly it’s 31.

As I’ve examined my life each year on this date, I have found that addiction can mean more than just being addicted to drugs or alcohol. I find that I have other addictions. For example, I am addicted to music. To the night sky. To the stars and the moon. To the sunsets over the pond, and the sunrise over the canal. To cloud formations. To mother nature. To my dogs. To my family. To love. To my heart. To writing. And so many other things I can’t even count. Luckily, these will not kill me.

But I’m not saying I don’t struggle anymore. I always will. I shall always be an addict to my drug of choice.  I know if I pick up again I’ll die. Period. End of life. So, I raise my mug of tea, saying, here’s to another day of being clean and sober. Life is good.

Home Sick

I have been sick in bed for the past six days. Here, in Charlotte, in my small, studio apartment, it has been eye opening. I have never been alone and sick in my entire life.

Granted, it’s not Covid. It’s not the flu. It’s not RSV. I have ruled out all l the scary viruses that those of us over 65 (ahem) are supposed to watch out for. It’s just a plain, old-fashioned head cold. No fever. No body aches. No chills, Just a little bit of coughing. A little bit of sneezing and a whole lot of nasal congestion. I had forgotten just how much gunk the human body can produce with a cold. Man, it’s disgusting.

I haven’t had a cold in years. Last time I got really sick was two years ago when I came down with Covid, which kicked my butt all over kingdom come, as they say. I was in bed for 10 days without being able to even watch television. Then 10 days on the couch. And then a year of fatigue that I thought would never end. But a cold? It’s been years.

And being away from home and being sick? Let’s just say I want my mommy. Of course, she’s been gone 6.5 years so that’s not happening. Same with my Dad. I would love to have my doggies here. They would climb up on the bed and snuggle with me and keep me warm. Cover me with dog kisses. Fight over which one gets closer to me. I would love to have my husband here. He would make me tea and chicken soup, delivered to my bedside all masked up, then slip out before getting close enough to get sick himself. But, at least he’d be in the other room. Wait, there is no other room here. But anyway…

The worst part about being here in Charlotte and being sick? I can’t see my daughter and my granddaughter. It’s been almost a week since I’ve seen Indigo. I saw Mikaela through the door when she dropped off some groceries for me a few days ago. Of course, she can’t risk being exposed to something she could bring back to the baby, so it was a quick “Here you go. Feel better” and off she went. She and Drew check up on me several times a day by text. I know if I need something, they would grab it for me. But I’ve been here since August 1, and have seen them pretty much every day since then. The weird feeling of loss, of even a few days without seeing my grandbaby, is a glimpse into the future of when I leave here in March. Still not sure how I am going to deal with that.

Watching your grandbaby grow, from day to day, is an intense eye-opening experience. I don’t remember watching my kids go from being a “potato” to being able to reach for things or being able to roll over from one side to the other. I don’t remember the moment when they went from simply lying on their stomach to lifting their head up and looking all around. I’ve talked with my siblings and my friends who have grandbabies and we all agree we were much too busy making sure they were still breathing and not choking on their spit up. It was harder to just enjoy the moments of growing. The moments of change, sometimes from one day to the next. Spending time with a grandbaby gives you the luxury of being able to take all of those moments in and actually feel them. I guess I’ve been lucky – ten times over – because I’ve actually been able to watch it from day to day.

Hopefully, in a few short days, I’ll be able to get back to being Indigo’s nanny. I’m sure she’s mastered many things in the time I’ve been sick. And I can’t wait to see it all.

Livin’ in the City

It’s Saturday morning and I am enjoying a cup of tea and a pumpkin muffin, waiting for the rain to come in. It’s September 23, the autumnal equinox. The first day of fall…my favorite season, next to spring, winter and summer. The sky is overcast, and the temp is 62 degrees. A tropical storm off the coast will bring some rain, and a little wind during the morning and early afternoon. Then it’s supposed to clear. Luckily, here in Charlotte, we are far enough West that we shouldn’t be impacted by the storm too much.

I have been living in the city of Charlotte NC for almost two months. I feel like the country mouse visiting his cousin, the city mouse. Everything around me is foreign. It’s noisy. Busy. Traffic full of crazy drivers. You take your life in your hands to cross the street, even with the Walk sign flashing, telling you to cross. I am not used to so much activity. Or to so many people. Some are friendly and smile as they pass by. Some look right through me. Some don’t even look in my direction. And me…I just want to say “Hey, I hope you have a good day” to everyone.

It is a pretty little city, though, with education and banking being the big draw. There are major and minor league sports teams, from football to football (soccer), hockey to baseball. You’ll find a melting pot of people of all races, colors, genders, languages…students, businessmen and businesswomen, law enforcement, homeless people, rich people and poor people. Having grown up in a small town in Massachusetts, my exposure to so many different kinds of people living in one place has been limited, to say the least. I want to meet some of the folks I pass on my walks. I want to ask some of them where they are from…why they live here…what happened to make them homeless…what brought them to the South… what/whom did they leave behind. But, I’m not sure how that would be received, so I ask the questions to myself and imagine the answers.

I walk every day, at least 3 miles. The tall buildings surrounding me block out the sunrise and the sunset. I have to crane my head back to see the blue sky. And, although the city streets are lined with trees, and there are gardens along the sidewalks, I miss my own garden beds. I miss the bird feeders and the many different kinds of birds that keep me entertained. I miss walking through my woods filled with pine trees, maple trees, oak trees. My two boisterous golden retrievers running ahead of me. Birdsong and the occasional deer watching me pass. I need to feel the crunch of leaves underfoot as I walk along the dirt path lined with soft pine needles that have fallen from the ancient trees. Breathing in the musky scent of summer fading.

Much as I miss these things, there are things I do like about the city. Everything is within walking distance. There is a CVS, a 7Eleven, a grocery store, a hair salon, several restaurants, all withing a few blocks. The campus of Johnson Wales University is right across the street and a great place to walk. In the middle of the city, there are parks and playgrounds. Walking trails, (they call them Greenways down here) filled with lush green grass, trace a path along the creeks that run throughout the city. Some of these greenways start south down in Pineville/Matthews and meander up into the heart of Charlotte.

And, of course, the thing I love most about this city is that my girl, her love, and her baby girl live here. Spending time with them eases any feelings of sadness I may experience when I think of home. I am not sure how long I shall be here, but I am making the best of every moment I can with them. And that feels like home to me.

My First Grandbaby

Tuesday September 12, 2023

Tomorrow my baby girl Mikaela is giving birth to her very own baby girl. It’s been a long pregnancy with a few bumps along the way, and she is actually 4 days past her due date. So, at the doctor’s appointment yesterday, it was decided that they would schedule a C-Section. Tomorrow at 1:30.

I am sitting in my apartment, right across the street from her and Drew, thinking about so many things. I am emotional, ecstatic, sad, lonely, grateful. Wishing Doug was here with me. Wishing my parents could see their newest Great Grandbaby. But mostly I am feeling so blessed that I have had this time with Mikaela to hang out, go shopping, play cards and bond.

To be continued after I hold my very first grandbaby!

Wednesday September 13, 2023

She is here! Indigo Nori Husband!! At 2:15 this afternoon she came into this world weighing 10 lbs even and measuring 21” long! She has lots of very dark hair, a testament to the crazy heartburn Mikaela felt all during the pregnancy. (Not just an old wives’ tale! LOL!)

 I can’t stop looking at her! Watching her breathe reminds me of when I had my babies. How quickly time flies by when you watch a baby sleep. As I hold her and she snuggles into my arms the tears of joy fill my eyes and escape down my cheeks. I have no words to describe how I am feeling. It is all emotion. And so deep it has no end.

Watching her I am just so in love with this precious, amazing being. She has cheeks you just want to pinch (gently, of course) and velvety skin that smells heavenly and is the softest, smoothest, most beautiful thing in the world. Her little mouth looks just like Mikaela’s. And, I do not believe that when an infant smiles it’s just gas. This little girl smiles a genuine smile in her sleep and my heart just bursts with happiness.

They gave her a bath yesterday, which she didn’t really like until they put her little head under the faucet, with a gentle stream of water washing her hair. Then she relaxed and an expression of pure bliss fell over her face and you could tell she was loving every second. Who knew an infant could appreciate the joy of having someone else wash her hair!!

Her name – Indigo Nori – so different and unique, brings to my mind depth, passion, intuition, love and hope. I imagine she will be beautiful, inside and out, with an open, loving, compassionate demeanor. I feel music in her soul. Joy and happiness. Intelligence. Creativity. And a character full of courage and an essence that conquers the world around her with a quiet strength of purpose. Impacting her world with peace and serenity, she is a force with a strong spirit that requires others to feel and hear her with respect. Dignity. And most of all love.

Welcome Indigo Nori Husband. My granddaughter. I love you.

Six Years Plus One Day

Hi Mom:

I know I usually write to you on the actual day you passed, which was yesterday, but I’ve been very busy taking care of my baby girl, who is very near to giving birth to her own baby girl! Yes, you are going to be a great-grandmother again, and I am going to be a grandmother!

Since we found out in January that Mikaela is expecting, it’s been a whirlwind. Several visits down to see her and Drew, a perfect baby shower – even though it poured rain and was downright cold for the month of June, still it was perfect, a decision to rent a studio apartment right across the street from the expectant parents, and finally, the move in.

This past week was very stressful, and I talked to you a lot through the galaxy, wishing so much that you were physically here. Mikaela spent three days in the hospital with severe back pain, which, after several intense conversations with several doctors they finally agreed with me that it was probably a kidney stone. Dad, you know what I mean. She was in so much pain, and I couldn’t do a thing to help her. It finally subsided after the second night, and she came home yesterday.

She’s 36 weeks along and watching her suffer was one of the most difficult things I’ve had to do as a mother. I thought, as I often have throughout my lifetime, how in God’s name did you and Dad manage seeing one of your 8 children suffer when there was nothing you could do? I was aching for her as I know kidney stone pain all too well. I was scared that something might happen to the baby. I was terrified that she would go into labor. I spent three days walking to clear my head, talking to you and asking for you to show me a sign so that I could find the patience and grace and calmness that you always showed when things got tough. I’m not sure what the sign was, but somehow I was able to hide my own fears and anxiety and channel you and your love so I could be there for my daughter.

Right now, she is here in my apartment, sleeping in my bed, snoring and comfortable, getting some much-needed rest. So, I took this time to write to you across the Universe.

I am so excited to become a Grandma. Doug can’t wait for his little granddaughter to be born. It’s a new and exciting chapter of our life. My only sadness is that you and Dad are not here to share it with her and Drew and us. I know you will touch her in spirit and whisper in her heart how much you love her. And she will absolutely feel it.

I miss you. I love you. Until we meet again, so long. Je t’aime Ma Mere.

Your loving daughter,

Meg

Summer Vacation

Today is the first day of summer. The summer solstice. A day much awaited by kids, teachers, and other school personnel, as, unless there is a large number of snow days, school is usually out of session by now. Summer vacation has begun. Woo Hoo!

When I was a kid, summer vacation meant a few months to chill, relax from the daily demands of homework and school sports and activities. It meant sleeping in. Staying up late to watch the stars come out. Cookouts. Exploring the woods. Hanging out with the gang drinking Kool-Aid and eating lunch outside. A time for unadulterated fun.

We had no responsibilities, except household chores that took up a little bit of the precious free time we had. It was a time to enjoy some down time. Maybe go fishing at Beaver Pond with the neighborhood kids in the morning. A pick up baseball game at the Millers’ house with all ages invited and encouraged to play. Swimming at the town pool in the late afternoon. Blueberry picking with Dad on weekends. And, my personal favorite, reading one of the 12 books I brought home from the library each week, as I sat on the front porch in the shade of a pair of cedar trees that framed the steps.

Oh, how I loved summer vacation as a kid.

But, while listening to the morning news the other morning, my ear caught the story of how someone, somewhere, in their “infinite wisdom” has decided that summer vacation should no longer be a time of freedom and play and dreaming. Someone thinks it’s a good idea to keep the pressure on kids to make sure they don’t lose any of the knowledge and information they learned during the previous school year. Someone thinks it’s a good idea to make the kids continue some type of rigorous schedule of learning so they don’t “fall behind” in September. I thought, “Did I hear that correctly?” So I rewound the news and listened again and sure enough, someone wants to take summer vacation away from the kids.

Now, in my 12 years of regular school, not once did I ever go back to school in September, feeling like I’d lost what I’d learned the year before. Not once did I miss the structure and pressures of learning. And maybe that’s because I was learning other, just-as-important things. Like, how to deal with a messy, scarey situation…you know, putting a worm on a hook and then taking a fish off the hook? Valuable lesson in the nitty gritty of what life can throw at you. Or how about, playing on a baseball team with all ages and abilites? Lesson there is acceptance, teamwork, patience, and humility. (Ever have your little brother out-hit or out-run you? Yah, humility) Or how about lying on your back in the grass, looking up at the sky and trying to figure out what the puffy white clouds look like? Lesson learned? Using your imagination without any inhibitions. And, as I noted before, reading for hours on the front porch. Lesson there is learning how to relax, leave the world behind, and let your mind find a way to stay in the moment of the book you are reading.

I can’t understand why someone would want to take all of that away from our children. If my kids were still school age, I would start some kind of revolution. I would make them go fishing. I would make them read. I would take them to the canal to watch the sunset. I’d pack all the kids in my truck and take them for ice cream after supper. I’d encourage them to have fun and learn all there is to learn outside of the classroom. On a hot summer’s day. In July. In August. They are only kids once. Let them have summer vacation. Soon enough, they will be adults and all of this will be lost. Happy Summer all. Thanks for letting me rant.

6 Years

Hey Dad:

I’m sitting here at the computer, texting back and forth with the siblings, remembering this day and how it changed all our lives. Hard to believe it’s been six years. Hard to believe we had no warning that you would leave us. But, then again, looking at pictures from around that time, it was clear you were in pain. You did a great job of hiding it whenever we were around.

 It’s a typical, early April morning. With lots of sunshine at the moment. It’s in the lower 50’s. Much like the day when you left us. My hyacinths are up and blooming and sending a heavenly scent your way. The crocus have come and gone, but the mini daffodils splash a bright yellow everywhere they have come up. The magnolia tree has many buds, waiting for the air to warm up a bit more before bursting forth with the stunning fuscia color when they bloom. Of course, the peepers are out and chorusing through the night, although we’ve had a few nights when I’m sure they buried themselves deep beneath the mud and water as it can still get below 30 this time of year. The male goldfinches are the mottled green/bright yellow that signals winter is over, but I never count winter out until after May 9^th. May 9^th,  your birthday in 1977, brought a blizzard with 18” of snow, that melted quickly in the next few days as the temps soared into the 70’s. I’m sure you remember that and chuckle to yourself, eyes twinkling at Mother Nature’s joke.

My garden beds need a cleaning out. I’ve left the leaves, and the stalks from the glads and dahlias to provide a wintering over place for the bees and other insects. But I think it’s time to start raking and turning over the soil. I miss sitting on the front steps, talking with you on the phone about the arrival of spring.

The thing is, I miss your physical presence so much. But every day, I feel your spiritual presence and warmth surrounding me. I felt you sitting with me last night when I woke up from a deep sleep about 2:41. You send me signs and I take notice. I talk with you all the time and I know you hear me. It comforts me to have this connection, but nothing will ever take the place of one of your big hugs. I hope when we meet again, we can share some version of a physical hug that always made me feel so safe and so loved.

Till we meet again…I love you Dad!

Musings on Another Birthday

So, I turned 67 the other day. Really weird to type that number. In my mind I still picture myself as a young woman. No gray hair sneaking up in my roots every month. Fewer lines on my face. No double chin. No circles under my eyes. Then I look in the mirror every morning and I scare myself with what I see. Who IS this woman looking back at me? Oh, yeah. That’s me. The years are showing. After all, I am now 67. Closer to 70 than I am to 60. My body doesn’t move as well as it used to. I can still walk 5 miles on an afternoon hike, but I pay dearly for it afterwards. It’s a very strange feeling. I’d rather snuggle up beneath the covers in bed at 9:00 and read than go out. I mean, in the “old days” the night didn’t even get started until 9:00. Falling into bed at 2:00 am was the norm. Especially when I was playing out and partying after. Sometimes the night of partying didn’t end until the sun rose and the new day began. But in those days, I could get up and go to work the next day. No problem. These days, if I stay up until 10:00, I can barely function the next day. I can’t remember the last time I saw midnight on New Year’s Eve. Sometimes that feels so pathetic. Other times it feels like a punishment for all the nights I let slip into the next day with the help of my old friend cocaine. Mostly, I just take a nap and let it go.

This week, I also celebrated 30 years of being clean and sober. Quite an accomplishment one might say. But, it’s always only a day at a time. Over the years, throughout my recovery (which is ongoing as I am an addict until the day I die, in case anyone was confused by that), I’ve learned some hard lessions. Mostly I think I am a good person. But when I was an active addict, I behaved in ways that were so far from who I really am that it’s almost impossible to reconcil the addict with the everyday, slightly weird, always-too-sensitive, creative soul I was born to be. Trust me, no one ever thinks as a child, “hmmm, I want to be a selfish, narcissistic, lying, stealing, mean-spirited drug addict when I grow up.” Yet, there I was. I lost some people who couldn’t forgive my illness. I almost lost a lot of people who didn’t initially understand my illness, but who eventually learned that it was the drug, not the person, who had hurt them. For that I am so grateful it makes me cry when I take a moment and really think about it. To those I lost, I am so sorry. But I can’t and I don’t dwell on it as that would only trigger me into depression and sadness that could send me spiraling back into actively using. If I do that? If I pick up again? I die. Actually, I am a grateful, recovering addict. Grateful that my drug of choice is not readily available on a drug store or liquor store shelf. Grateful that my family – husband, children, parents, siblings, cousins – those who have known me all or most of my life have supported me and loved me no matter what. Grateful for my friends who also surround me with love and understanding. Grateful that I can find a more powerful high from the music that runs through my veins. The woods with pathways of sweetly pungent pine needles and whispers of support through the treetops. The siren call of the beach, the lover of the ocean’s waves, be they thunderous or calm, that connects me with those I love in another dimension. Twirling snowflakes in a tango with the wind that calm me and soothe me. The colors of a sunrise or a sunset that paint the sky…all without doing damage to my heart, mind and soul. All filling me with whatever was missing that made me turn to drugs in the first place.

So, I sit here at the computer, with my pups at my feet, thinking, “I just want to celebrate another day of living”. (Great song lyric!) Celebrate. Find joy. And if you need help, reach out. Don’t be afraid. It will be OK. It will take time and work and change, but it will be OK. And I can tell you, it’s definitely, definitely worth it.

January 2023

 It’s been quite the gloomy January. Hardly any sunshine. Rain, wind, warmish temperatures. Damp. In-between weather. Not really winter, not yet spring. And it’s only mid-January.

Nothing like the January’s of my childhood. Oh, boy, here she goes again, you might think. But seriously, I miss those cold days. Snow days. Ice-on-the-pond days. Bundling up from head-to-toe-so-you-could-spend-hours-outside days. Shoveling out our neighbors, building snowmen, creating snow forts, engaging in snowball fights, flying down the hills on a saucer or a sled. Lying down in the snow to make snow angels. The scent of the cold air stinging your nostrils. The sensation of cheeks blushing to a deep red the longer you stayed outside. Ahhh…made you feel you were alive.

This weekend, we finally got some snow. Nothing to write home about, but still. I could spend hours watching the snow sift through the air, twirling in the wind. Big fat flakes like eiderdown, falling all around the birds at the feeder. Birds on the ground scratching to get to the seed I left there for them before it got covered by a coating of the white stuff. Slate-gray Juncos, chick-a-dees, dashing red cardinals, goldfinches with their drab winter feathers protecting them from hungry predators.

And so, I watched. The wind grabbing the flakes, keeping them swirling in a mad dance, before calming down for a moment to catch its breath, only to begin the dance again. As the snow covered the white pines, it became a winter wonderland for a brief time.

It snowed pretty much all day, but never seemed to accumulate more than a sugar coating on the grass and the trees. I’m a little disappointed. As I’ve gotten older, my heart still longs for a real snowstorm. I love to walk out in the snow. The pristine, quietude pulls me into a space of peace and beauty. I still find the stark contrast of the snow against the green pine needles and dark brown bark on the trees to be magical.

And, yet, as I’ve gotten older, I no long wish it to snow from November to March. One or two good snowstorms satisfies the longing of the little girl in me. I need the reminder of the winter to prepare me for the spring. For, just as you need the darkness to appreciate the light, coming out of the winter into the spring can be best appreciated if there is a winter to leave behind.

The Holidays 2022

The holidays are finally over. My heart is heavy with the weight of bittersweet memories, changes in traditions, grief and loss. For some reason, the loss of my parents and the traditions I grew up with surrounding the holidays, hit me hard this year.

Usually, my siblings and I and our families get together to celebrate Christmas. We used to gather at the folks’ house, but since their passing, and the subsequent sale of our homestead, the tradition has been to gather at one of my brothers’ houses. There, we would eat and talk and laugh and share memories of Christmases past, knowing the fact that we were together as a family would help ease the loss of our parents. Knowing that sharing our childhood memories and traditions helped us get through the day.

Those of us who live farther away, took joy in the journey home, our hearts filled with the anticipation of spending time together. Walking through the front door of my brother’s house brought a sigh of relief and a feeling of happiness that we were still able to carry on the tradition of family. There were homemade cookies and pastries and food to share. We would toast a bit of Jameson in honor of our parents and, with a tear in our eyes and love in our hearts, all of us felt their presence right there with us.

This year was a little different. My brother and his wife became grandparents and wanted to spend Christmas with their daughter and her husband and their beautiful grandbaby. We all understood, happy for them in the thrill of a baby girl to add to the family.

Yet, as happy as we were for them, it meant another change that I was not really prepared for. What would we do on Christmas? My daughter is in Charlotte and my son goes to his in-laws for the day. This meant my husband and I would be alone. Oh, I know some people would love to have a quiet Christmas, but for me Christmas is a big, boisterous gathering, with stories to tell and jokes and laughter with those who know me best. Seeing my siblings’ faces and giving and getting hugs charges my soul and fills me up with what I need the most to get through in this life. This year, I marked the hours, just waiting for the day to be over. I really couldn’t wait for the day to end.

So, instead we had a post-holiday gathering at my brother’s house. I walked through the door with the same relief and happiness as if it was Christmas. We laughed and ate the cookies and goodies all of us brought. There were stories, old and new. We shared a Jameson toast to Mom and Dad. The baby was there, happy and content, which was wonderful, too.

I’m not really sure why I felt such loss this year, but I sure am glad the holiday season is over. Hopefully next year we can find a way to have a party during the Christmas season, with all of us together. I’m not ready to give this up. As long as we are all alive and well.