Bah, Christmas Humbug
Without Prejudice
Three days to go and I am ready to give up on Christmas. In fact I just shouted it aloud to the backyard. The yard doesn't answer me back and I am ready to " Go Into The Garden And Eat Worms " as my Mother used to say. In other words, Stop Feeling Sorry For Yourself.
I think of the poor starving children in Africa. I think of everyone afflicted with any sort of disease. I want to indulge in a Pity Party and hate myself for it. I am still sulking over my car being stolen and don't seem to want to let it go. Horrible things have happened this week, a Seige in Sydney, eight children murdered in Cairns. And I realise I am tired and emotional.
I should be wrapping presents. I should finish my cleaning, this frenzy I feel to clean the entire house and garden before Christmas. It is as bad or worse than a Spring Cleaning Frenzy and that is pretty bad. I feel ready to explode, my head is pounding and I feel like I have had enough, hit rock bottom. I just don't have time and can't get it in to perspective.
Christmas is horrible for some people. It is not always a time of celebration.
I miss her and I wish she was here.
I feel silly for the tears, and I know I will feel better soon. People say but it was such a long time ago, that I have everything to live for. 14 grand kids, three surviving daughters who are well and happy, three fantastic great grandkids, another to be born on Christmas Day. Jade my oldest grand daughter has just had come through an operation, she has Crohns and is in a lot of pain but she is way better than we thought. All the good things.
But the anniversaries bring their own reminders and I feel it. I am human. I am not perfect. I just want to crawl into a ball and sleep. Sleep brings peace and dreams. I want to be left alone and remember. The counsellors told me Time Does Not Heal, anything. It's a myth. Grief gets worse but becomes more private. I tell people I am just tired, Or ill. I don't want to bring them down.
The tears will sedate me and make me look puffy for days. I am an ugly crier and hate myself for crying. I feel angry at myself for not being stronger. All the soothing words in the world can not help me today. I want to mourn, I am allowed to be sad they told me. Nothing is as bad as a Mother mourning a child. I want her here, with me. She would be 37 now. A Mother, she always wanted to be a Mother.
They say I will see her again. I want her now. I want to hold her, look in those myopic eyes, so like mine. My girlfriend Jackie lost her Son this year. I can't hold my hand out to her, yet. It is too soon. She won't remember. She lost her only Son. She won't remember the first Christmas or the second, the third, fourth or fifth. She may recall some of the sixth.
She said she wanted to go in the grave with him at first. We all feel like that. Two parents in England lost their only child, a Son. They held hands as they jumped off a cliff together the following day. Not able to face the rest of their lives without him. I am too cowardly to do that. And my other kids would think their sister was the only one that mattered. I couldn't do that to them. So I go on. People say that unbearable sorrow makes you strong. What a load of shit.
The counsellors told me I would find a reason for her being born and a reason for her dying. She was the baby. A happy, sunny girl that gave love to so many. She loved everyone. And that sunniness and love was why she was here. And when she died I turned away from my ex husband and told him to get out and I was frightened to death of him.
We were both unhappily married to each other. A teen pregnancy gone wrong, then a dark obsession that still scars me to this day. He's happy now, remarried, two boys. I stay single, happily so. I find it hard to trust men. I have had two serious relationships and two random. The spiritual boy of 37 who was thirty when I first met him I sent away. He was way too sweet for me and I said to him I have raised enough children. I didn't need another. That was 12 months ago. I never heard from him again.
I decided I needed to make money rather than love. My brother told me off a few weeks ago and said I needed to get more romantic. Maybe I'll make it one of my three goals for 2015. Maybe
Three days to go and I am ready to give up on Christmas. In fact I just shouted it aloud to the backyard. The yard doesn't answer me back and I am ready to " Go Into The Garden And Eat Worms " as my Mother used to say. In other words, Stop Feeling Sorry For Yourself.
I think of the poor starving children in Africa. I think of everyone afflicted with any sort of disease. I want to indulge in a Pity Party and hate myself for it. I am still sulking over my car being stolen and don't seem to want to let it go. Horrible things have happened this week, a Seige in Sydney, eight children murdered in Cairns. And I realise I am tired and emotional.
I should be wrapping presents. I should finish my cleaning, this frenzy I feel to clean the entire house and garden before Christmas. It is as bad or worse than a Spring Cleaning Frenzy and that is pretty bad. I feel ready to explode, my head is pounding and I feel like I have had enough, hit rock bottom. I just don't have time and can't get it in to perspective.
Christmas is horrible for some people. It is not always a time of celebration.
I miss her and I wish she was here.
I feel silly for the tears, and I know I will feel better soon. People say but it was such a long time ago, that I have everything to live for. 14 grand kids, three surviving daughters who are well and happy, three fantastic great grandkids, another to be born on Christmas Day. Jade my oldest grand daughter has just had come through an operation, she has Crohns and is in a lot of pain but she is way better than we thought. All the good things.
But the anniversaries bring their own reminders and I feel it. I am human. I am not perfect. I just want to crawl into a ball and sleep. Sleep brings peace and dreams. I want to be left alone and remember. The counsellors told me Time Does Not Heal, anything. It's a myth. Grief gets worse but becomes more private. I tell people I am just tired, Or ill. I don't want to bring them down.
The tears will sedate me and make me look puffy for days. I am an ugly crier and hate myself for crying. I feel angry at myself for not being stronger. All the soothing words in the world can not help me today. I want to mourn, I am allowed to be sad they told me. Nothing is as bad as a Mother mourning a child. I want her here, with me. She would be 37 now. A Mother, she always wanted to be a Mother.
They say I will see her again. I want her now. I want to hold her, look in those myopic eyes, so like mine. My girlfriend Jackie lost her Son this year. I can't hold my hand out to her, yet. It is too soon. She won't remember. She lost her only Son. She won't remember the first Christmas or the second, the third, fourth or fifth. She may recall some of the sixth.
She said she wanted to go in the grave with him at first. We all feel like that. Two parents in England lost their only child, a Son. They held hands as they jumped off a cliff together the following day. Not able to face the rest of their lives without him. I am too cowardly to do that. And my other kids would think their sister was the only one that mattered. I couldn't do that to them. So I go on. People say that unbearable sorrow makes you strong. What a load of shit.
The counsellors told me I would find a reason for her being born and a reason for her dying. She was the baby. A happy, sunny girl that gave love to so many. She loved everyone. And that sunniness and love was why she was here. And when she died I turned away from my ex husband and told him to get out and I was frightened to death of him.
We were both unhappily married to each other. A teen pregnancy gone wrong, then a dark obsession that still scars me to this day. He's happy now, remarried, two boys. I stay single, happily so. I find it hard to trust men. I have had two serious relationships and two random. The spiritual boy of 37 who was thirty when I first met him I sent away. He was way too sweet for me and I said to him I have raised enough children. I didn't need another. That was 12 months ago. I never heard from him again.
I decided I needed to make money rather than love. My brother told me off a few weeks ago and said I needed to get more romantic. Maybe I'll make it one of my three goals for 2015. Maybe
