Holiday Blahs

Ho Ho Ho, and all that jazz. It’s not quite bah, humbug, but it’s not that far off either.

My seasonal depression keeps me from fully embracing the spirit of the upcoming season, and this year feels a bit worse than any I can recall from recent memory. There’s no mystery as to why I’m feeling low–it’s knowing I won’t see my kids and grandkids at Thanksgiving or Christmas that’s weighing me down. It’ll just be Studly and me for both holidays.

The Christmas just after my mom died in late October, 1997, was´┐╝ worse than this, though. I still feel the weight of her loss during the holiday season more than any time of the year.

Some days it feels like a block of anguish around my neck, dragging me down, forming an insurmountable barrier to getting out of bed. Other days her absence is just a touch on my forehead, a reminder of what I miss most–my mother’s ability to make the pain go away.

The Christmas season comes with so many expectations. We should be happy and joyful, surrounded by the ones we love. But many will be alone and some will be depressed even in the midst of a happy crowd. If anyone needs a hug, I’ll send a virtual one.

Based on my previous experiences, I’ll manage to pull myself together before December 25, but until then don’t expect my happiest self. I’m just bah humbugging along for now.

Peace, and hang in there, people.

Massage in a Bottle

Ok, that’s a lame title, so sue me. My hips and upper thighs have been causing me extreme agony lately, and I’ve found that a good massage can help relieve some of my pain. 

I had such a massage today. The therapist dug into my hips until the muscle relaxed and I could sigh in relief. But I also, at one point in the treatment got an intense cramp in the calf of my left leg causing me to kick the unsuspecting massage therapist squarely in the face. 

  After all he’d done for me I felt awful. Poor guy. I’m not sure any amount of gratuity is going to ease his pain, but it might buy him some ibuprofen.

Peace, people!

Better Left Unsaid?

a door left wide open, perhaps a precipice.
step right in; leap heedlessly into
the dark abyss.

instead i demurred, chose the status quo,
and now we face the consequence, but how was i to know?

guarded portal closed, shut for all these years,
yet if it should swing wide again i’m bound to face my fears.

your progeny are ill behaved, i’ll say,
disrespectful to all but you;
the interest compounded throughout their lives steadily accrues.

or maybe i’ll just smile and nod, agree with all you say,
waiting there by an exit narrowed, and again, watch you walk away.

  

Easy Times

i read the news this morning of a friend’s mother having a stroke,
and another’s father breaking a hip.

i heard of an adult child who fled
his responsibilites and left his
wife and children for a fling.

i thought about the pain we experienced
as young parents, worrying about our
infants’ developmental stages.

i recalled the nights spent agonizing
over my teenagers’ angst and woes,
their heartaches and heartbreaks.

i wept when reflecting on the loss
of my parents, both gone too soon
from my life; too young from theirs.

i realized there are no easy times,
nothing worthwhile comes without cost.
the joys of loving our only reward.

  
Recently a beloved uncle passed away after a long illness. When I shared the news on Facebook a friend who’d recently experienced a similar loss commented that we are at a tough age. 

I knew what she meant. I’ve lost both of my parents, as have most of my closest friends. Several in my age group have experienced the traumatic loss of a spouse, and some the loss of a child.

We are the sandwich generation, those of us in our mid-to late 50’s. Some still have children at home while simultaneously caring for aging parents. I would almost say it is the most difficult time. But then I started thinking and the poem appeared.

There are no easy times. We might be fooled for a second by a lull in the action, but every stage has its pitfalls. The love is worth it, though. Just keep plugging. 

Peace, people!

Polarized

her tightly pinched lips
sickly white from forced pressure
pushing love away.

giggles erupting
uncontained mirth engulfing
overtaking us.

no smiles found her eyes
wary, watchful orbs untouched
by life’s happiness.

prayers heard solemnly
lovingly tucked in warm beds
sweet dreams little ones.

slippered feet silenced
anxious to avoid conflict
too quiet children.

holding on tightly
waltzing in circles of joy
her love unrestrained.

  

  
Peace, people!