baggage's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Blink at the Wrong Time and I'll Start Crying Again I'm finding it difficult to get into the groove of December. Usually, I love December-I love the chill, the holidays, the weight of the extra sheets on me as I close my eyes. But, right now, it feels a bit out of time. The reasons are obvious, but I would rather not waste what could possibly be my Mom's last Christmas stuck in a bog of self-pity. I'm particularly vulnerable to crying it seems. Last Sunday, after lunch with my parents at their favorite restaurant, my eyes teared up as mom waved goodbye to me from the half closed tinted window of their car. The windows on my truck are tinted as well-and I was thankful that she couldn't see me crying like a child as her hand waved that goodbye wave I used to see every morning as I left for school. It was a 20-minute drive to my friend's house and I allowed my depression to pour out of me within the safety and anonymity of the eastbound 10. We were going to do a bit of Christmas shopping-and I certainly didn't want to ruin our afternoon by showing up at his front door with bloodshot eyes. But, it's there. Behind the tinsel, the wrapping, the Christmas songs. The sadness sits and grows like a cancer itself. And I doubt it will ever go away. Because, she won't be there when I turn 35. Or 40. Or 50. I'll have questions that only she can answer-but she won't be around to hear them. And today, I ask her what she wants for Christmas and she says, "to get well. And to be alive." "We're working on that Mom," I tell her, damning the tears that threaten to fall at any given moment. I often wish I could throw the gears of my life in reverse-maybe start over so I can deal with this a bit better. But, we all know that's an impossibility. And besides, it's merely Dec 5th. Christmas is still a few weeks away and, in between the celebration of Jesus' birthday and the New Year, I have a week to myself. I have time to get into the groove of eggnog, ornaments and white lights that blink. Precious time indeed. 10:10 p.m. - 2001-12-04 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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