Merry Christmas?

Have you ever had a Christmas where it just doesn't feel like Christmas?  The tree's all decorated, the lights are up, the presents are wrapped, the cards are signed, the Christmas story's been read, etc., etc.  Yet even with all that, there's just no joy, no excitement, nothing.  That's how my Christmas started out.  When I was woken up by one of my dogs licking my face, it felt like any other day.  I knew it wasn't, but that's what it felt like.  It made me think of those Christmases when I was little kid that I would wake up at the crack of dawn and run into my parents room and jump on their bed till they woke up and we would go open presents.  I miss those days of simplicity and of belief in Santa.  Things really were easier in some ways.

When I finally hauled myself out of bed and got out of my room and wished a Merry Christmas to the rest of my family, my grandmother responded with, "Doesn't feel very merry does it?"  I knew exactly what she meant, but saying it out loud just added to the depression I already felt.  It was hard not to dwell on the fact that Grandpa wasn't going to be there.  Thanksgiving hadn't been nearly this hard, probably because about half the family wasn't able to make it anyway.  For Christmas though, the entire family was showing up, including my grandmother on my mom's side who suffers from dementia.  Eleven people, a permanent odd number for the first time in twenty years.

Time Heals

Update:
I originally published this post on my grandmother's birthday going on three years ago.  I find it funny that I was surprised that after two months the pain of my grandfather's death was still there, was still fresh.  Almost three years later just re-posting about my grandfather's death on my new blog as I move everything over had me sobbing.  Even now re-reading this post, I can feel the tears running down my face.  I had no clue then how much my grandfather's death would change me, would define me.  I wasn't prepared for the deep depression it plunged me into that shattered my world and left me drowning in a sea of pain and sadness.  Almost three years later and the wounds still haven't healed.  I'm beginning to realize that maybe they never will.  True, I have more control of my emotions, I can hold back the tears if I need to, I can hide the pain, but the wounds are still raw.  Though they don't happen as frequently, there are still days when I hate myself for not having spent more time with him, that I blame myself for his death.  So much is an internal struggle, the desire to go visit his grave for the first time since he was laid to rest, yet not having the strength to make the trip on my own.  With the holidays coming up, I miss him even more and I find myself realizing that things are never going to go back to the way they were before his death, no matter how much I may want them to.

My Grandpa, My Hero

Growing up, I had two main men in my life: my dad and my grandpa. My grandpa was there from the moment I was born. He was one of the first people to hold me and he was there almost every day afterward. There were times when I spent more time at my grandparents house than at my own home. We did so many things together. It was my grandfather who taught me how to fish, to love being outside. I went camping with him, my grandmother and my parents countless times. He taught me about horses and how to ride one. There were many times as a child that we went riding together with me sitting in front of him on the saddle. He gave me my love for horses.

Together we must have put together at least a hundred puzzles, if not more, seeing who could put together the most pieces. Together we planted blackberries and raspberries, eagerly awaiting their fruit. Once, when we saw the Energizer Bunny balloon setting down in a clearing not far from my grandparent's house, we ran to go see it and got to touch it. He took me on bike rides and drove me to the park. He joked and could always make me laugh. We played solitaire together and a hundred other games. He was my best friend. He saw me at my best and at my worst.