Posted by: Ingrid | November 29, 2007

Never the same

There aren’t enough words. Or enough space or enough…something I can’t put my finger on. I wish this season were altogether upside down and topsy-turvy, that we could have spent Thanksgiving in the Bahamas and Christmas on some cruise ship lonely in the middle of the ocean. Too much sameness feels like it will drive me insane. But on the flip side, I love Christmas and all the preparations and traditions that come with it. Therein lies the rub. To do something utterly un-Christmasy would feel empty and strange and sad. To carry on with Christmas, all of the traditions and baking and festivities feels sometimes empty, like I’m trying too hard to get the externals right. And sometimes it feels (and looks) excruciatingly painful. Everything, EVERYTHING I do for Christmas is something that I did at home with my mom. The cookies, the decorating, playing Christmas carols, looking at lights, Christmas concerts, the Advent wreath and devotions. Which means that everything I enter into this year contains nostalgia and memories and loss and pain that I can’t get away from. I wonder whether I’m doing things because I really want to or if I’m doing them because my mom always did them. I wonder if it’s bad if I am. I wonder if I’ll figure it out somewhere in the middle or if it will be a nagging undercurrent throughout December that won’t develop as a thought until after it’s all over. And then I wonder if I’m overthinking the whole thing.

The first Thanksgiving, birthday, and Christmas in the span of a month. I feel like I’m grasping for straws. I can pull old birthday cards and read them, but no matter how many letters or papers or journals or pictures you have, you don’t have the person back. It’s not the same. It’s never the same.


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