I haven’t decorated for the holidays. And I really haven’t bought gifts either. I was actually feeling panicky about the holidays, like taking cover and hoping they would pass by and I would sustain no casualties. I can joke about PTSD, but when the panic sets in, it’s not that funny.
I couldn’t quite understand why I was feeling frantic about this season, until I realized it was because my daughter for the first time ever won’t be home for the holidays. She has to work because that’s what happens when you grow up and you aren’t an educator. I think it stirred all the memories of the first Christmas after my parents died. I couldn’t even bare to look at the bin of ornaments they left behind. And I feel like seeing Darian’s Christmas stocking and the items that she made over the years would unhinge me. I have been trying to distract myself: I have a fantasy football team. I am knitting a scarf. I watched Ocean!’s 11, 12, and 13. I made a bitmoji classroom and am teaching myself Adobe Illustrator. But Christmas is still coming and the urge to hide is strong.
The one thing that can take me to a better place is to paint. So at seven thirty in the morning, I knelt onthe freezing cold sidewalk in my puffer jacket and winter hat, to paint a holiday window scene for a local business. I might not be feeling Christmas, but years of drawing, sculpting, and painting snowmen, make holiday scenes muscle memory. I painted a snow guy with a yarn ball body, a Christmas tree made with name of the business and a sleigh flying with skeins of yarn packed in precariously. My hands were frozen at first and the wind kept taking my stencils down the sidewalk, but eventually the sun came out and it was a beautiful day. Everyone who came by told me how great the windows looked. Whimsical and fun.
My son stopped by and in his awkward Shayne way gave me a pair of Beats. He said they were my Christmas gift and he knew I liked to jam out when I paint. Then my friend stopped by and painted on the snowflakes for me and helped me fix the two letters I had painted on backwards with the stencils. When I was cleaning up, my old neighbors pulled up and we exchanged hugs. Once again, I was reminded of how much love there is in my life.
I stood back and looked at the scene I had created. It really was so bright and cheerful and I felt like I had given myself a gift. I know in my heart that adult children have to build their own traditions and it is my daughter’s time. Letting her have the wings to do that is part of my job. I can be sad, but I can also recognize the joy in her successes. The panic las lifted and I am ready to embrace the magic and wonder of the season in the memories yet to come.
Just Another Damn Thing to be Strong About 