I don’t know what it is about the holidays that brings the darkness out, but there it is. Not necessarily holiday depression, but definitely a darkness. In my case, it’s the memory of those lost. The ones that had the most to do with the holiday season.
First of course is my mother. We had issues, yes, but she was my mother. She always tried her best to make Christmas something special. Admittedly she managed to drive everyone nuts prepping for it, but it was always something. She made a huge deal out of the holidays and I miss that. The traditions, the ceremony, the pomp, the constant taunting of not knowing what we’d gotten for Christmas that year. The house is too quiet at the holidays with her gone.
Then there’s my grandmother. Ma. We’d fallen out of practice going out there for the holidays to see our family a long time before she died, but I miss her none the less. She always cooked enough to feed an army even when there were only a few of us. I remember my cousins and my aunts and my uncles, but at the center of it was Ma. The eye of the storm and the controller of the chaos.
On the plus side, I have a family now. My brothers. We aren’t related by blood, but we are closer than family in many ways. My Kathryn. She forces me to remember the good in my life. My dad’s still with us and Aunt Martha’s across the road. It could be far worse, and for all of these wonderful people I feel grateful.