The Eve
Everyone is always asked what the best part of the holidays is for them. That's too easy for me, because I get to see my daughter...if only for a short while. Instead I ponder what the worst part of the holidays is for me. I've decided it's Christmas Eve.
Up until tonight I'm able to push everything out of my mind, as if it's not looming ever closer...as if it's not real. I can put everything off and just ignore it. There's the first watching of all the holiday movies, the first listening of all the holiday concerts and songs, and many more 'firsts of' for the season. It's all such wonderful distraction that there's no problem before.
On Christmas day it's controlled chaos. There are gifts, and family, and food, and too much more to even list. Although the day no longer holds any intensity of interest for me, my daughter has enough to share. I think that's just how it is in life...as our own wells of Christmas excitement run dry the overflowing from the wells of our children spill in and refill us with the wonder that was. Because of that, there's no problem during.
Right after Christmas there are new toys and gifts to play with and use. Because of our situation my daughter and I try, however vainly yet valiantly, to cram 4 months of life into our 5 short days. That makes for a few VERY busy days. Everyone wants to see her of course, and there's just so much going on...much more than could fit if we had ten times as long. So there's no problem right after.
Then she's gone and, well, there's just no way around that. It's the culmination...the pinnacle of emotion. It's so completely god-awfully painful that honestly it causes immediate short-circuit and shut-down...even if I wasn't chugging a fifth an hour to cope. But the occurrence is so sudden and overwhelming that it's not too bad...like pulling off tape on your skin with a quick jerk. Then the alcohol kicks in (praise be to fermentation...clinching proof of God's love for us) and it's just blackness for a few days. Then it's back to pretending I'm someone else...or that she's not gone...or that she doesn't exist...or whatever else I have to do to just not think about it until she comes back. So there's no problem after she's gone.
No, the real bitch of it all is Christmas Eve. After she's arrived, been reunited with her faithful dog (not to mention loving father), and gone to bed that first night. All the emotion of her return has built up and is now screaming wildly for some sort of release. Without her conscious presence to force me to control it for her sake there's just no way to keep it in any more. All of the holiday stress and build-up is now culminating, with no further way to ward it off it all comes crashing down upon me at once. Where before I ignore the holidays because trying to experience them without her is impossibly hard, now I can't make that excuse and have no choice but to live the entire build up to the holiday season in just a few hours. The world is quiet as I sit and try to get through my to-do list. Wrapping gifts, preparation of treats, final decorating, cleaning...to work through all that while experiencing the cascade of devastating emotions - with only the dog to witness my gentle decline into annual temporary insanity. I wrap each gift to her and am staggered by the impact of my love for her...and yet even with her here I'm alone as she sleeps peacefully a few doors away. It drives me crazy trying to keep myself from rushing into her room every time and giving her just one more hug and kiss goodnight. And then eventually, sometime in the wee hours, the last gift is wrapped and the final cookie is placed to cool...and then...what? Sleep? Impossible. There's just too much...too much deafening silence, too many eternal seconds, too much intangible physical impact...there's just too much.
Maybe it really is just the realization of how much I miss her the rest of the year...maybe it's the acceptance of the crushing weight of not having someone to share these moments with...maybe it's psychological damage from a Christmas long ago...maybe it's the empty reflection of personal achievement...
The only definite is that it's the worst part of the holidays for me. Damn you Christmas Eve. Damn you, and kindly fuck off.
Up until tonight I'm able to push everything out of my mind, as if it's not looming ever closer...as if it's not real. I can put everything off and just ignore it. There's the first watching of all the holiday movies, the first listening of all the holiday concerts and songs, and many more 'firsts of' for the season. It's all such wonderful distraction that there's no problem before.
On Christmas day it's controlled chaos. There are gifts, and family, and food, and too much more to even list. Although the day no longer holds any intensity of interest for me, my daughter has enough to share. I think that's just how it is in life...as our own wells of Christmas excitement run dry the overflowing from the wells of our children spill in and refill us with the wonder that was. Because of that, there's no problem during.
Right after Christmas there are new toys and gifts to play with and use. Because of our situation my daughter and I try, however vainly yet valiantly, to cram 4 months of life into our 5 short days. That makes for a few VERY busy days. Everyone wants to see her of course, and there's just so much going on...much more than could fit if we had ten times as long. So there's no problem right after.
Then she's gone and, well, there's just no way around that. It's the culmination...the pinnacle of emotion. It's so completely god-awfully painful that honestly it causes immediate short-circuit and shut-down...even if I wasn't chugging a fifth an hour to cope. But the occurrence is so sudden and overwhelming that it's not too bad...like pulling off tape on your skin with a quick jerk. Then the alcohol kicks in (praise be to fermentation...clinching proof of God's love for us) and it's just blackness for a few days. Then it's back to pretending I'm someone else...or that she's not gone...or that she doesn't exist...or whatever else I have to do to just not think about it until she comes back. So there's no problem after she's gone.
No, the real bitch of it all is Christmas Eve. After she's arrived, been reunited with her faithful dog (not to mention loving father), and gone to bed that first night. All the emotion of her return has built up and is now screaming wildly for some sort of release. Without her conscious presence to force me to control it for her sake there's just no way to keep it in any more. All of the holiday stress and build-up is now culminating, with no further way to ward it off it all comes crashing down upon me at once. Where before I ignore the holidays because trying to experience them without her is impossibly hard, now I can't make that excuse and have no choice but to live the entire build up to the holiday season in just a few hours. The world is quiet as I sit and try to get through my to-do list. Wrapping gifts, preparation of treats, final decorating, cleaning...to work through all that while experiencing the cascade of devastating emotions - with only the dog to witness my gentle decline into annual temporary insanity. I wrap each gift to her and am staggered by the impact of my love for her...and yet even with her here I'm alone as she sleeps peacefully a few doors away. It drives me crazy trying to keep myself from rushing into her room every time and giving her just one more hug and kiss goodnight. And then eventually, sometime in the wee hours, the last gift is wrapped and the final cookie is placed to cool...and then...what? Sleep? Impossible. There's just too much...too much deafening silence, too many eternal seconds, too much intangible physical impact...there's just too much.
Maybe it really is just the realization of how much I miss her the rest of the year...maybe it's the acceptance of the crushing weight of not having someone to share these moments with...maybe it's psychological damage from a Christmas long ago...maybe it's the empty reflection of personal achievement...
The only definite is that it's the worst part of the holidays for me. Damn you Christmas Eve. Damn you, and kindly fuck off.