First Christmas decoration up, and I feel a heaviness. I feel grief.
Celebrations are never the same after profound loss. There's a wistfulness to them, a strange mix of loneliness and presence. She is here, always, and she is gone, forever.
She'd be putting up decorations, she'd be writing cards. She'd have her presents all bought, and the turkey ordered. Such busyness, such worldliness, offsetting my more spiritual, romantic nature.
Even before widowhood Christmas was more complicated for me, more about human persistence, and quiet gratefulness. A light in the darkness of winter, a feast to keep the spirits up. Joy did not come easy.
And yet grief is a strange sort of joy. What was, once, is, always.
She'd be dragging me away from my reflections, telling me to come help her with something. She was always one more for distractions than contemplation.
Christmas has begun. I hope it brings comfort to all those who celebrate it.