This weekend, we put up the Christmas tree and Ed hung our lights out on the house. We look so festive! As we were driving home from the mall tonight, Lily asked why we didn’t have as many lights up as other people did. I simply told her the truth. We’re lame.
I’m doing all right these days. Grief catches me off guard, though. Emmy is giving signs of not wanting her nap, and I almost picked up the phone to call Mom. Mom gave me a special Christmas ornament last year, which I had forgotten about until Ed handed it to me. The other night at choir rehearsal, some simple words in an Advent carol reduced me to a blubbering ball of mush. Sometimes it takes me a while to recover and stop the tears; other times I take a deep breath and continue with the task at hand.
The past couple of night, I have dreamed about Mom’s funeral. I wake up sad, but maybe these dreams are helping me to process Mom’s death. It still doesn’t seem fair. I expected Mom grow old with Dad; to help me raise my daughters; to celebrate many, many more Christmases with us. It just doesn’t seem fair.
Yet, as Dad puts it, we go on.