I haven’t been able to write anything in months. I think I’ve written twice since my Mom died in February. I have been deeply grieving. For her. For life as I knew it. For my Dad. For their house in Tyler. For things I will never have again. For not being able to talk to one or both of them daily. For Baby Girl not getting to grow up with the influence of these two incredibly special people.
It’s not that I haven’t been thinking of the words. The words come at me all the time. When I’m driving, when I’m standing in the kitchen staring into space, when I’m cleaning, but mostly when I’m trying to sleep. I lay there and the words come. So many words. So many things I’d like to say. To write about. To contemplate and to let the grief bleed from my fingertips. But I don’t get up. I don’t go and sit at my desk, I just move on to the next task of the day or I roll over and will myself to sleep. Don’t think about it now, I tell myself.
I don’t know what I’m afraid of. But I do know this holiday season has been rough so far. To make things even more depressing, Tony’s Dad died in October. 2023 has not been kind. Baby Girl and I have had counseling. We are at each other’s throats all the time. She is nine. She loves me. She hates me. I love her. I don’t want to see her face. We struggle. Then the bad feelings melt away and we are ok. She is a persistent, determined, challenging child. And I am lost in my grief. I’m not as strong as I used to be. I’ve mellowed. I’ve changed. Death will do that. I wonder all the time how our relationship would be if I hadn’t had to endure the last five years. And how will it be in another five years? If I had had the strength and energy to be tougher on her, would she be less willful now?
The fact is, I let her get away with a lot. Everyone tells me that I need to be kind to myself because of all that I’ve been through. That is was understandable, how I parented her these past years. That it makes sense… I was so tired… I was so stressed out and sad and in survival mode. We are all a product of our upbringing. What have I done to hers? How will it pan out in the future?
These next five years matter. I still have a chance to create a loving, respectful, delightful relationship with her. I pray for it everyday. I ask God to let us have the relationship I had with my own mother. My counselor says yes, you will, but you can’t have it NOW. She’s not your friend now. I understand and I don’t want to fast forward – I don’t want to miss these years – but I do wish wholeheartedly for it to hurry up. Nine is hard. And I’m terrified of twelve. Fourteen. Seventeen.
I’m rambling. Forgive me, friends. This is what happens when you have so much to say and no one to say it to. Or the will to write it down on a daily or weekly basis. I will try to do better. I need to, for my own sake. I know it will help. I want to write to you all about depression, about my daughter, about the book I still want to write, about my career and where it is heading. About my future dreams and hopes. I hope you will want to read it all, but my writing will be different now that my parents are gone. You may get bored with it. Who knows where it will take me? I have loved that you all have loved my blog posts. It has meant a lot to me to write so that someone else might not only enjoy it, but even feel a little bit better because of it. But now I will have to write solely for my own sake.
Back to the holidays. Baby Girl has asked me all year if I believe in Santa. Are you sure? she asks when I say yes, of course I do. Yes, I answer. I’m sure. I believe in Santa, y’all. He lives in my house, does the laundry and drinks my wine. He has an Amazon Prime account. He buys special wrapping paper that is specifically for Santa’s presents. He tells Baby Girl that naughty children don’t get gifts, he reassures her that he’s real. Santa is the magic in my house at Christmas time. Maybe this year hasn’t been as magical as usual. Maybe this year we didn’t go to Great Wolf Lodge or the Ice Sculptures at the Gaylord. Maybe this year the tree was put up late and half the ornaments were left off. Maybe there’s no angel at the top of the tree this year because I couldn’t be bothered to get one. Maybe I had to get my Barn Moms to decorate the barn this year because I didn’t have the will. Maybe Santa will get regular chocolate chip cookies instead of decorated sugar ones.
Maybe this will be the last year for Santa.
I think, in spite of everything I’ve been through, in spite of not having Christmas wrapped up in October like I usually do (a necessity I fell into whilst caring for my parents these past five years), in spite of not having my brother and his family come to visit for New Year’s (I’m too tired I told him), I think in spite of all this, we might just have a Merry Christmas anyway. Or at least a peaceful one.
I will let you all know. Bear with me friends. Bear with me and I just might produce some writing you all can relate to. Some funny stories, some insightful moments or a real look into depression and heartache. A glimpse of the pride and agony of raising this strong-willed, big-hearted child of mine. This blog started out as an ode to toddler moms everywhere but morphed into a lifeline for me while my parents were sick and dying. It’s time for a change. Let’s see where it goes next….