Christmas has been a huge challenge for me since 1993. That was the year my brother died. That was the year the Christmas trees stopped. I had always loved Christmas trees. The trip to pick one out, tying it to the roof of the car, setting it up at home, decorating it, and sitting in the soft glow of the lights, with the fresh evergreen scent it always carried with it. Something about the tree was always comforting. I have always been a huge Christmas person, and the thing that made it feel like Christmas, more than anything else, was the tree. Every year, I asked Mom for a tree after that, every year, she said no. Not only did I have to adjust to my brother no longer being there for Christmas, but I also had to deal with losing my favorite part of my favorite holiday. It may not seem like much to most people, but it was a huge deal for me.
After a few years, my family joined ATI, and Christmas changed even more. There was even talk of doing away with the gifts and decorations completely. For years, even after I got out, the Christmas season carried with it a lot of tension between me and my parents. And then came the first year after my sister and I had our falling out. And all the Christmases after. I still loved the season. As soon as I moved out, I got my own tree, and decorated it every year. I started listening to Christmas music Thanksgiving night when I went to bed. I started watching Christmas movies the next day. But without fail, Christmas Eve would come, and I would start feeling sadder and sadder. Getting out of bed on Christmas morning was sometimes literally more than I could bear. In many ways, while I loved the Christmas season, the actual holiday was sheer torture. I never felt more alone than on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, despite being surrounded by family and friends. The sense of loss was overwhelming. As was the mourning for that relationship I had wanted so badly for so many years, and still didn't have. And it got worse with every passing year, as more and more friends- including those years younger than myself- got married and had kids. And then there was me. Just me.
Then last year, out of the blue, he had pretty much fallen in my lap, less than a month before. We'd been dating for two weeks when I had to go home for Christmas, but we were both already planning on getting married. We just clicked. I wasn't thrilled to be away from him on Christmas, but for the first time since my brother had died, I didn't feel so utterly...alone. We were already making plans for this year's Christmas. He was talking about it as much as I was. For the first time in over 20 years, I finally enjoyed my favorite holiday. I had just earlier that year become okay with the idea of being single for the rest of my life. I was 31 and hadn't really dated before, and mostly not by choice. But suddenly, the future looked brighter than it ever had, and I couldn't wait to see what came next.
And then, as you all know by now, it very suddenly and very unexpectedly went very wrong. As the year progressed, the Christmas I had been looking forward to the most, suddenly looked much, much worse than any of the previous ones. By October, I had settled on moving to Denver in December. I had also decided to sell most of my Christmas decorations, and not decorate this year. I had decorated with him last year, on our first date (the first date that lasted seven hours), and the thought of decorating by myself this year was more than I could bear. I decided I'd pick it up again in December of 2016, when I'd be well over a year past the breakup, be at the end of my first year in Denver, hopefully with an entirely new life, and be decorating a new place, with (mostly) new decorations.
Thanksgiving came and went, and I didn't listen to my 80+ hours of Christmas music that I own. I didn't watch any Christmas movies. I planned to go home for Christmas, as always, but even that thought brought me pain. I was supposed to have him with me this year. And there had been talk of a possible engagement around this time as well. Instead, I would be going home, alone. To a household that is in more transition than I can really handle this year (that's a whole other story), to a place that didn't have my brother or sister. I think I have missed my brother more since July 1st than in the entire 22 years leading up to it. To put it in Dickensian terms, his loss is keenly felt. So much more this year than any other year. Sometimes, a girl just needs her big brother. And boy, do I need mine now. I have also missed my sister more. Or, not so much my sister, as the relationship we never had.
Then my accident happened. I was still planning on going home, but I was going to take several days to drive, because of the pain in my back and kidneys. After being asked to do a second interview for the marketing internship on Tuesday, it just wasn't going to really work for me to spend several days driving to Cincinnati and back, and navigating an airport was going to be rough too. So I gave up the idea of going home, and instead, asked the Loflands if I could stay with them, as we have all grown quite close since November. Miraculously (well not really- they're some of the most amazing people who ever lived), they said yes. I was really sad not to go home. This is the first year in my entire life I have spent Christmas somewhere other than Cincinnati, and with people other than my family. But in other ways- surprising ways- it's been really good.
Today, I woke up in Wichita, and had breakfast with Jerusha, Christen, Missy, Ben, and Becky. The kids were happy to see me this morning, and I got tons of hugs and cuddles from Becky. I still had to get the rest of Becky's gift, so I headed off to Barnes and Noble this afternoon. I usually have all of my gifts wrapped and ready more than a week before Christmas. This year, I hadn't bought any until the 21st, so shopping and wrapping presents on Christmas Eve was a totally new thing. But it was good. Nothing about the day made me think it was actually Christmas Eve. I got back to the house with presents, wrapping paper, and tons of snacks that I knew the kids would love. After an awesome dinner, we went driving around the neighborhood to see the Christmas lights. The day had been so completely different for me, that I had entirely forgotten that I was missing Christmas Eve at Aunt Judy's with the family, until my cousin Anne texted me to tell me how much they missed me, and that they were all talking about how proud they are of me and everything I've done these last few months. Instead of being sad about what I was missing, I realized that being here in Wichita, with friends who survived the same cult, and whose kids are growing up with a freedom and lack of trauma that is entirely foreign to me, completely away from my family and reminders of how things were supposed to be, is probably the best thing for me.
I'll probably go back to Cincinnati for Christmas next year, and be back at Aunt Judy's for Christmas Eve, and my cousin Carol's on Christmas Day. I'll probably struggle again with my brother's absence and my sister's separation. I'll probably be sad again that I'm not a little kid with the Reynolds family at Aunt Debbie's house, sitting on Barbara's lap, or hugging Grandma, or getting my ears tickled by my cousin Tony.
But this year, that was probably more than I could bear. Even writing this was almost more painful than I could bear. I didn't expect it to be so incredibly raw. I expected to write a few thoughts, not sob my way through it. As unexpected as that was though, it's perfectly fitting for my title. Last year, all was bright. This year, it's really not. In fact, I have a hard enough time seeing through to January, let alone next December. It's dark. It's sad. It's hard. Fortunately, I'm far closer to calm than I have been for most of the last six months. I'm referencing, of course, "Silent Night." It was always one of my favorite Christmas carols, even after I stopped identifying as a Christian. I have always found it simultaneously cathartic and inspiring, with vivid, yet peaceful, imagery. All is calm, all is bright. That's how I always felt as a child, sitting in a dark living room, illuminated only by the soft lights on the Christmas tree. When the tree went away, so did part of that feeling.
This year, more than ever, things do not feel bright. Logically, I know things have to be better next year. It would be hard for them to be worse. Even with all the hell I have faced in my life, the last several months have been the hardest of my life. Dealing with this breakup (and a lot of other poorly timed misfortunes), has been the single hardest thing for me in my life. When you wait until you're 31 to get the thing you've wanted more than anything else, have it fall in your lap, be better than you ever dreamed possible, and then get it very quickly ripped away, it does something that other losses don't. It's hard to explain. Yes, dealing with this, has been harder than dealing with the death of my brother. This year, things are very, very dark. I'm not in the desperate place I have been in, and there is a very real level of calm for me (not to be confused with happiness or contentment) that hasn't been there for very long. But they're definitely not bright.
So what to do? To quote an old Rogers and Hammerstein song, I "walk on through the wind, walk on through the rain." It doesn't feel like "at the end of a storm is a golden sky and the sweet silver song of the lark." But I keep going. I often feel alone, but I'm not. I have so many people who support me and love me. Maybe not some of the people I want to support and love me, but I'm really not walking alone. The fact that I'm spending Christmas in Wichita with people I hadn't met in person until just over a month ago is proof of that. My dreams have been tossed and blown, and I really can't find hope in my heart. Things are so much further from bright this year than I thought possible at this time last year, but I'm going to keep walking on until the light returns. Each step takes me closer to the light. To paraphrase an ancient Chinese proverb, a journey of a thousand miles is comprised of millions of individual steps. And how do I get to the end of that thousand mile journey? I walk on.
After a few years, my family joined ATI, and Christmas changed even more. There was even talk of doing away with the gifts and decorations completely. For years, even after I got out, the Christmas season carried with it a lot of tension between me and my parents. And then came the first year after my sister and I had our falling out. And all the Christmases after. I still loved the season. As soon as I moved out, I got my own tree, and decorated it every year. I started listening to Christmas music Thanksgiving night when I went to bed. I started watching Christmas movies the next day. But without fail, Christmas Eve would come, and I would start feeling sadder and sadder. Getting out of bed on Christmas morning was sometimes literally more than I could bear. In many ways, while I loved the Christmas season, the actual holiday was sheer torture. I never felt more alone than on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, despite being surrounded by family and friends. The sense of loss was overwhelming. As was the mourning for that relationship I had wanted so badly for so many years, and still didn't have. And it got worse with every passing year, as more and more friends- including those years younger than myself- got married and had kids. And then there was me. Just me.
Then last year, out of the blue, he had pretty much fallen in my lap, less than a month before. We'd been dating for two weeks when I had to go home for Christmas, but we were both already planning on getting married. We just clicked. I wasn't thrilled to be away from him on Christmas, but for the first time since my brother had died, I didn't feel so utterly...alone. We were already making plans for this year's Christmas. He was talking about it as much as I was. For the first time in over 20 years, I finally enjoyed my favorite holiday. I had just earlier that year become okay with the idea of being single for the rest of my life. I was 31 and hadn't really dated before, and mostly not by choice. But suddenly, the future looked brighter than it ever had, and I couldn't wait to see what came next.
And then, as you all know by now, it very suddenly and very unexpectedly went very wrong. As the year progressed, the Christmas I had been looking forward to the most, suddenly looked much, much worse than any of the previous ones. By October, I had settled on moving to Denver in December. I had also decided to sell most of my Christmas decorations, and not decorate this year. I had decorated with him last year, on our first date (the first date that lasted seven hours), and the thought of decorating by myself this year was more than I could bear. I decided I'd pick it up again in December of 2016, when I'd be well over a year past the breakup, be at the end of my first year in Denver, hopefully with an entirely new life, and be decorating a new place, with (mostly) new decorations.
Thanksgiving came and went, and I didn't listen to my 80+ hours of Christmas music that I own. I didn't watch any Christmas movies. I planned to go home for Christmas, as always, but even that thought brought me pain. I was supposed to have him with me this year. And there had been talk of a possible engagement around this time as well. Instead, I would be going home, alone. To a household that is in more transition than I can really handle this year (that's a whole other story), to a place that didn't have my brother or sister. I think I have missed my brother more since July 1st than in the entire 22 years leading up to it. To put it in Dickensian terms, his loss is keenly felt. So much more this year than any other year. Sometimes, a girl just needs her big brother. And boy, do I need mine now. I have also missed my sister more. Or, not so much my sister, as the relationship we never had.
Then my accident happened. I was still planning on going home, but I was going to take several days to drive, because of the pain in my back and kidneys. After being asked to do a second interview for the marketing internship on Tuesday, it just wasn't going to really work for me to spend several days driving to Cincinnati and back, and navigating an airport was going to be rough too. So I gave up the idea of going home, and instead, asked the Loflands if I could stay with them, as we have all grown quite close since November. Miraculously (well not really- they're some of the most amazing people who ever lived), they said yes. I was really sad not to go home. This is the first year in my entire life I have spent Christmas somewhere other than Cincinnati, and with people other than my family. But in other ways- surprising ways- it's been really good.
Today, I woke up in Wichita, and had breakfast with Jerusha, Christen, Missy, Ben, and Becky. The kids were happy to see me this morning, and I got tons of hugs and cuddles from Becky. I still had to get the rest of Becky's gift, so I headed off to Barnes and Noble this afternoon. I usually have all of my gifts wrapped and ready more than a week before Christmas. This year, I hadn't bought any until the 21st, so shopping and wrapping presents on Christmas Eve was a totally new thing. But it was good. Nothing about the day made me think it was actually Christmas Eve. I got back to the house with presents, wrapping paper, and tons of snacks that I knew the kids would love. After an awesome dinner, we went driving around the neighborhood to see the Christmas lights. The day had been so completely different for me, that I had entirely forgotten that I was missing Christmas Eve at Aunt Judy's with the family, until my cousin Anne texted me to tell me how much they missed me, and that they were all talking about how proud they are of me and everything I've done these last few months. Instead of being sad about what I was missing, I realized that being here in Wichita, with friends who survived the same cult, and whose kids are growing up with a freedom and lack of trauma that is entirely foreign to me, completely away from my family and reminders of how things were supposed to be, is probably the best thing for me.
I'll probably go back to Cincinnati for Christmas next year, and be back at Aunt Judy's for Christmas Eve, and my cousin Carol's on Christmas Day. I'll probably struggle again with my brother's absence and my sister's separation. I'll probably be sad again that I'm not a little kid with the Reynolds family at Aunt Debbie's house, sitting on Barbara's lap, or hugging Grandma, or getting my ears tickled by my cousin Tony.
But this year, that was probably more than I could bear. Even writing this was almost more painful than I could bear. I didn't expect it to be so incredibly raw. I expected to write a few thoughts, not sob my way through it. As unexpected as that was though, it's perfectly fitting for my title. Last year, all was bright. This year, it's really not. In fact, I have a hard enough time seeing through to January, let alone next December. It's dark. It's sad. It's hard. Fortunately, I'm far closer to calm than I have been for most of the last six months. I'm referencing, of course, "Silent Night." It was always one of my favorite Christmas carols, even after I stopped identifying as a Christian. I have always found it simultaneously cathartic and inspiring, with vivid, yet peaceful, imagery. All is calm, all is bright. That's how I always felt as a child, sitting in a dark living room, illuminated only by the soft lights on the Christmas tree. When the tree went away, so did part of that feeling.
This year, more than ever, things do not feel bright. Logically, I know things have to be better next year. It would be hard for them to be worse. Even with all the hell I have faced in my life, the last several months have been the hardest of my life. Dealing with this breakup (and a lot of other poorly timed misfortunes), has been the single hardest thing for me in my life. When you wait until you're 31 to get the thing you've wanted more than anything else, have it fall in your lap, be better than you ever dreamed possible, and then get it very quickly ripped away, it does something that other losses don't. It's hard to explain. Yes, dealing with this, has been harder than dealing with the death of my brother. This year, things are very, very dark. I'm not in the desperate place I have been in, and there is a very real level of calm for me (not to be confused with happiness or contentment) that hasn't been there for very long. But they're definitely not bright.
So what to do? To quote an old Rogers and Hammerstein song, I "walk on through the wind, walk on through the rain." It doesn't feel like "at the end of a storm is a golden sky and the sweet silver song of the lark." But I keep going. I often feel alone, but I'm not. I have so many people who support me and love me. Maybe not some of the people I want to support and love me, but I'm really not walking alone. The fact that I'm spending Christmas in Wichita with people I hadn't met in person until just over a month ago is proof of that. My dreams have been tossed and blown, and I really can't find hope in my heart. Things are so much further from bright this year than I thought possible at this time last year, but I'm going to keep walking on until the light returns. Each step takes me closer to the light. To paraphrase an ancient Chinese proverb, a journey of a thousand miles is comprised of millions of individual steps. And how do I get to the end of that thousand mile journey? I walk on.
thanks for sharing this step of the journey! keep on trekking towards the light!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Linda
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