Happy Easter! (And By "Happy", Of Course I Mean "Not EXACTLY Depressed...")
Ah, the holidays.
Easter morning dawns bright and clear. The sun sparkles outside my open window, celebrating the beauty that is Resurrection Sunday. The alarm next to my bed sings happy music while I slowly pull myself out of my cocoon of down blankets.
I stumble around the house, getting ready for today's service that completes the holy weekend, the end of the story to end all stories, the day that celebrates the reason we have hope. I put on my new dress of white and blue and head out the door to begin the day.
Church is fuller than usual, as it always is on this particular day. Why didn't I think to come to the 7:30 service instead? Oh, right: sleep was desperately needed last night. The few people I normally sit with are hidden in this "Where's Waldo?" game and I just don't have the time to play it, so I quietly sit beside a couple I don't know. I listen to the music of the choir without hearing what's going on. I greet those around me without processing the faces. And I pay attention to the sermon without remembering a thing that is said.
After church, I drive away from church, in a direction different from where my family is. I head north, a quick stop I need to make before starting the family gathering part of the holiday. I walk up to the door, leave a card, and head back. All because grandparents deserved to be remembered and acknowledged, even if they are not mine.
The family is the usual mix: One brother, two cousins (and a husband), an uncle and his wife, an aunt and her potato salad, two grandparents, four dogs, one preschooler, mom and WonderDon. And a Deema in a pear tree. Dinner, the same: ham sandwiches, potato salad and baked beans, fruits and veggies. The conversations, the same: stories of the dogs, comparisons of future plans, complaints of neighbors in all the areas, planning out the SHOULDS of the family members we don't see here today. And then the arguing about taxes: rights, wrongs, whys, why nots, good, bad, and who has the strongest opinion (for the record, my mom!). The voices begin raising, my mom starts sounding agitated and shrill, and everyone my age and younger heads for the outside porch. A few minutes later, the door opens again and two of the big dogs exit the building, followed closely by WonderDon. My cousin's poor husband (who doesn't come to these family things very often) is trapped in the dining room where the battle rages on and on, simply because his desire to finish his meal is stronger than his desire to seek refuge.
Outside, the weather has switched from bright and pretty, to rainy and gloomy. Inside my head, my thoughts are equally rainy and gloomy. There are "should!"'s and "why?"'s and "I just don't understand!!!"'s. There's confusion and ambivalence and guilt.
I feel disconnected and out of place. I love my family so much, more than anything in the world, and yet, I want nothing more than to be left alone with my disjointed thoughts. I'm sitting in the room, but not present by any means. They try to draw me out, try to ask me questions and involve me in the dialog. And I try to pretend I'm interested and present, happy for their sake. But I think all of us know it's useless. How many holidays have we played this same game, each time managing only a few minutes longer of successful Deema-involvement? So, after trying to pretend that I'm feeling happy and festive and them that they don't notice that I'm failing miserably, we all accept defeat and go our separate ways.
And now they have began the country music videos, which is my cue to head back home. It was nice being with my family, and I have to count today as the most successful holiday for awhile. I believe the next one is Thanksgiving, so there should be plenty of time....
Easter morning dawns bright and clear. The sun sparkles outside my open window, celebrating the beauty that is Resurrection Sunday. The alarm next to my bed sings happy music while I slowly pull myself out of my cocoon of down blankets.
I stumble around the house, getting ready for today's service that completes the holy weekend, the end of the story to end all stories, the day that celebrates the reason we have hope. I put on my new dress of white and blue and head out the door to begin the day.
Church is fuller than usual, as it always is on this particular day. Why didn't I think to come to the 7:30 service instead? Oh, right: sleep was desperately needed last night. The few people I normally sit with are hidden in this "Where's Waldo?" game and I just don't have the time to play it, so I quietly sit beside a couple I don't know. I listen to the music of the choir without hearing what's going on. I greet those around me without processing the faces. And I pay attention to the sermon without remembering a thing that is said.
After church, I drive away from church, in a direction different from where my family is. I head north, a quick stop I need to make before starting the family gathering part of the holiday. I walk up to the door, leave a card, and head back. All because grandparents deserved to be remembered and acknowledged, even if they are not mine.
The family is the usual mix: One brother, two cousins (and a husband), an uncle and his wife, an aunt and her potato salad, two grandparents, four dogs, one preschooler, mom and WonderDon. And a Deema in a pear tree. Dinner, the same: ham sandwiches, potato salad and baked beans, fruits and veggies. The conversations, the same: stories of the dogs, comparisons of future plans, complaints of neighbors in all the areas, planning out the SHOULDS of the family members we don't see here today. And then the arguing about taxes: rights, wrongs, whys, why nots, good, bad, and who has the strongest opinion (for the record, my mom!). The voices begin raising, my mom starts sounding agitated and shrill, and everyone my age and younger heads for the outside porch. A few minutes later, the door opens again and two of the big dogs exit the building, followed closely by WonderDon. My cousin's poor husband (who doesn't come to these family things very often) is trapped in the dining room where the battle rages on and on, simply because his desire to finish his meal is stronger than his desire to seek refuge.
Outside, the weather has switched from bright and pretty, to rainy and gloomy. Inside my head, my thoughts are equally rainy and gloomy. There are "should!"'s and "why?"'s and "I just don't understand!!!"'s. There's confusion and ambivalence and guilt.
I feel disconnected and out of place. I love my family so much, more than anything in the world, and yet, I want nothing more than to be left alone with my disjointed thoughts. I'm sitting in the room, but not present by any means. They try to draw me out, try to ask me questions and involve me in the dialog. And I try to pretend I'm interested and present, happy for their sake. But I think all of us know it's useless. How many holidays have we played this same game, each time managing only a few minutes longer of successful Deema-involvement? So, after trying to pretend that I'm feeling happy and festive and them that they don't notice that I'm failing miserably, we all accept defeat and go our separate ways.
And now they have began the country music videos, which is my cue to head back home. It was nice being with my family, and I have to count today as the most successful holiday for awhile. I believe the next one is Thanksgiving, so there should be plenty of time....