The blank, confused faces of other parents, juggling, searching, questioning.
Too-jebbus what the FUCK is that?
Too much. Too much stuff. Too much noise.
I hate Christmas.
I’ve only come to hate it recently. It used to rest in my head as “that holiday that will never be enough because you have no mommy, but you’ll try anyway.” but it’s now turned into “No one else cares anyway, so who are you trying to kid?”
I don’t know how to get a house decorated. The tree blows. I bought french cards instead of english and then didn’t get back to the store. My sugar cookies taste like hockey pucks. My children aren’t even excited-if asked, they can muster up a shrug, and all Rosalyn can do is ask where her fucking wedding barbie is (which, if I’m honest “Santa” might return out of spite at this point).
I’m fielding question about whether jesus is real (nope) or angels (no-free will darling, it’s a bitch) while being asked to sing Vivian Silent Night as she drifts off too sleep. My voice catches and cracks with tears on some parts, memory full and lulled by time. She never asks for much, instead climbing up my side telling me she loves me, do I love her? seeking some sort of acceptance and security I don’t even know I can provide, her brown eyes brimming with a hope I’ve seen. Oh I’ve seen it alright.
About 20 odd years ago would be the last time, eyes wide with hope and love and breathless belief in a future I’d want to live through.
My mother had a silver star she had created. It hung on the door every year, red glitter falling off a little each December, but she had made this, and it came out each year. The nativity, always on the mantle, jesus only placed on christmas day, hands out, blank face smiling. We visited the musty houses of the old on Boxing Day.
I don’t have the repeaters-shit, anymore I’ve given up and have trouble getting dinner out for them. I have no sense of security around me, no continuity plan. I don’t have a star for each December, I barely have socks for every day. I can’t provide them with memories that coalesce-I try and give, I try and set an example but…I stand in an aisle in Toys R Us searching for some elusive perfect something and I know…something isn’t what I’m searching for. I’m digging to find that bond, that secure place where my mother and my daughters can be, where it merges into one and I no longer feel guilt or sadness, no longer remember when I stole 2.00 from my mother’s purse and she never knew, no longer beat myself up for rejecting my youngest for so many months after her birth.
An aisle where only full hearts sit, waiting.