I’ll Tell You What I’ll Do

I was walking down the road, not caring much where I was going. A heavy pack upon my back, burly good with inner sad of loneliness when fluttered by this bird of blue. He said “I’ll tell you what I’ll do since you seem to be so sad, I will try and be your glad.” Bluebird of happiness. -Joan Baez

I sit in my sadness often. More than I should. Every season, every holiday, every day, every victory, every failure, and every moment I allow myself to be swallowed up by my despair. It runs deep. And it hurts like hell.

I fucking miss my mom. A lot.

I feel like I am completely incapable of going through another holiday season like this. With her, but without her.

Every year I try my best. I put on a brave face, visit my mother with gifts in my hand and a smile on my face. I sit with her. I talk to her. I do my best to bring her some sense of joy. But, inside, I am crumbling the whole time. I cannot bear to “celebrate” in this way with my mother, who loved the holidays so very much. I cannot bear to take our annual picture, with my mom looking older and sicker each year, not smiling, not looking at the camera, maybe not even knowing what is happening. It’s too much, and it weighs heavy, like a pack on my back.

I can’t be the happy, spirited daughter this year. I just can’t do it.

But, I’ll tell you what I’ll do…I will remember the lifetime of cheer my mother gave to me, making me a homemade Christmas ornament every year, singing carols while she bakes her famous cookies, hosting Christmas year after year for the whole family. I will remember all the effort she put into giving me the best holiday season I could have. I will remember her inevitably buying too many stocking stuffers for my father and having to wrap gifts last minute that won’t fit in it. I will remember the late nights and the early mornings. I will remember how she made so many cookies so that everyone she loved could have some. I will remember her sitting in the rocking chair late at night while I laid under the tree, staring at the lights, talking to me about life. I will remember her, as she was, in her favorite time of year. I will remember.

And I will show up for my girl, the way my mother showed up for me. And I will try and be her glad, for as long as I am able. I owe it to my mother. I owe it to my girl. And I owe it to myself.

I’ll be with you soon, Mama. With an immense amount of love and grief.