Sasha’s Christmas 2021

Christmas Day was kind of weird. I was worried about the roads and Don and Carol coming. In the end, we decided they should stay home and come on Sunday instead. So, Christmas didn’t feel like Christmas in spite of the lights and listening to music. 

However, I didn’t even go all maudlin’ or spend most the day in tears over missing Mum like I usually do on Christmas. (She passed Christmas morning 2011.) It just felt like any other day. I did some writing, worked a bit in the studio, posted some photos, had a good lunch of turkey leftovers, and played SS in the afternoon.

 Here’s another weird thing: I woke at 3:30 the next morning to find my fan wasn’t running. I rolled over. The clock was blinking. Evidently the power had gone off. Funny, I usually hear the generator kick on, but I hadn’t.

There was light in the kitchen. I thought Pele must have jarred the table and woke the computer like she does sometime. I fell back to sleep without resetting the clock and didn’t get out of bed until almost 6 a.m. The light was still on in the kitchen. Why was that?

 I went out and found it was the light above the cabinets was on. How did that happen? I seldom even put that one on. I clicked it off and when I turned to go back in the bedroom to prepare for the day, I noticed a light under the studio door. I went in. The light that was on was one I never use. That was bit disconcerting. Is my house becoming haunted? I suppose it had to do with the power going out earlier, but that’s never happened before with odd lights just turning on when power comes back.

So, I wondered, was it Mum saying hello? I wanted more of an assurance… but it didn’t come… yet.

Don and Carol didn’t show up until 2:30. For some reason I expected them to come around noon, 1 p.m. by the latest. They each had a present for me. I opened the box… he’d made two wooden reindeer. They’re adorable!

Carol’s box to me had a mug she’d hand painted and a sparkly silver butterfly. The mug isn’t the type I like to drink out of (I have my favorite), but it’s perfect for the little C. cactus Rachel gave me and adds a bright spot of color on the kitchen windowsill.

I am so thankful, grateful, and feel blessed this year (much needed after the crappy time I’ve been having lately.)

A Quest to Feel Loved

 

Last night in conversation, she said since she found God, she has been filled with an intense feeling of love. (I can’t remember her exact words.) I am glad for her, but my immediate feeling for myself was the pressures of what love entails, the gives and takes, and the fear I’m not willing to give enough or giving more than I get in return. (Does this also mean a part of me believes I’m terrible at love and don’t deserve love?)

Love has been an issue I’ve been in a quandary over for many years. I touch on it from time to time, then can’t find the right words and am unable to really figure it out, so I give up on it. I’ve been so badly damaged by past love that I don’t ever dare to fully trust love again, and I’ve built very strong walls to not let it in.

Oh, how do I explain? Yes, I know how to love. (Or do I? If I really knew how to love, and let myself feel loved, would I be having this issue?) It’s easy for me to say I love Pele-kitty, Leo-kitty, flowers, nature, birds, painting, writing, etc. It’s almost like I shy away from loving people.

But I do love many people. I say, “I love you,” to family and friends, and I truly mean it, and they tell me so in return. But there’s a feel of distance, like something is held back. I hold back. I’m the one who distances.

Part of it is a stupid belief that love (outside of family) and sex are intermingled. I don’t like feeling that way and in trying to figure it out, all I can reason is that, in my younger adult years, that’s what love seemed to mean. I’ve been trying to come to terms with this over for over 40 years. It even seems stupid to feel this way, and probably no one else sees it this way, but I can’t seem to get over this. Is there something within me that by believing this protects me from further hurt?

I want to be loved, to feel love. It’s not anyone else’s fault I don’t feel it. I’ve come so far in being me, accepting myself for who I am, and yes, loving me, but there’s a piece missing. That feeling of truly being loved and the warmth and the comfort it brings about. Logically I know others love me but emotionally I don’t feel loved. (And again, my mind says that’s stupid.)

Is it being alone? But I choose to be alone. I can’t imagine ever living with anyone else ever again. But can’t I live alone and still FEEL loved by friends and family?

 Who knows, maybe by writing about this occasionally, I’ll finally get it.

Oh my, and now I just got this revelation: This issue of not feeling loved escalated after my mum passed away Christmas Day 2011. That was when I was truly alone, and that the only person who really, ever totally loved me was gone.

Reflections on Christmas

Giving – Christmas for my mum was ALL about GIVING! She loved buying things for others. Any time she was out shopping, no matter the time of year, if she saw something she thought someone would like, she’d get it and put it away until Christmas. (I think she started this because Dad was often out of work part of the year and funds were limited.)

Mum was always conscious of making sure Don and I had the same number of gifts (because you know kids count, ha-ha) …. I remember one year, we got 25 gifts each! Don and I were the only two kids in our family, so it wasn’t hard for the aunts and uncles to contribute, too. And those single aunts and uncles always came to our house! Christmas, for us, was THE most special time of the year with lots of gifts, family, and huge meals!

Oh, the Christmas cards, too. I remember so many cards. They were part of the Christmas decorations as Mum, then later me, hung them all around. I loved them. It was fun seeing who would send cards and sending them in return.

How did Mum find the balance all those years? I’m sure buying throughout the year worked because of their limited budget, and I’m betting the money wasn’t always even. Even as a young child, I was aware Dad’s side of the family gave Don more expensive, better-quality gifts than they gave me. I was never jealous, but I wondered. Mum always said it was because Don was a boy, and it was tradition for boys to get more. (Years later when I turned 50, I found out the real reason… but that’s another story.)

That giving was instilled in us. Even when we were kids, Mum would put our names on gifts, so we felt we were giving, too. Then, when we became older and got jobs, we did our own purchasing of gifts. I remember Mum being hurt when all she used to get were things for the house… when she would have liked something personal for herself. That certainly gave me more to think about, especially when it came my turn to receive a toaster or a new set of dishes that everyone used.

Buying gifts has always been difficult for me and has given me much guilt. Not that I didn’t want to give, it was knowing what to give and being able to afford it. I’ve never been a happy shopper. I wouldn’t get into the spirit of giving until the holiday season, then I’d get over flustered trying to make choices. Stupid things bothered me like worrying about wasting money buying something someone wouldn’t like.

Our tradition continued when Don and I became adults and had our own children; I, two and he, one. But times and things changed, and different rules were made. When my kids became adults and had children of their own, they chose to stay home for Christmas.

We still continued to exchange gifts, but as more years passed, more changes came about. I don’t even remember them all, except all the kids (I have 11 grandchildren!) each had to get $50 gifts, and we were told what we could buy and what we couldn’t buy. What happened to surprise? It took all the fun out of giving. Mum felt the same, too. She and I became more isolated. Christmas didn’t mean the same anymore and we stopped exchanging gifts. In the end, it basically became just her and I.

I pulled back even more after she passed… on a Christmas morning in 2011. Her favorite day of the year. Oh, I don’t regret her passing on her favorite day. For her, it was fitting, but how could I ever deal with another Christmas again? My mum… my rock… (I won’t even mention how the next few Christmases were for me.)

However, a couple years ago, I started reaching out again. I sent Christmas cards, sent gift baskets to family and friends. But times are different. The Christmases I knew of the past can never be again. I accept that. I can’t make the old days happen again, can’t bring back those old feelings of comforting, loving joy. I know, people make new traditions. We all make our own choices.

And my choice is to isolate. (Although, if family does show up on Christmas Day, I am overjoyed!) I spend the day alone with lots of tears (even after all these years). My neighbor makes me a nice dinner. Last year I got surprised with visits from family, which was totally wonderful.

However, will I ever be able to talk about any of this with family? I don’t know. My guilt isolates me… and a big part of me wants to stay isolated. Plus, I can’t talk about this without tears falling. I never admitted this before, but I am lonely. OK, most the time I’m too busy to be lonely, but the aloneness sometimes gets to me. It’s not that I want someone here all the time. For the most part, I like being alone, but sometimes, just to have some family time…

It’s hard to feel loved when you’re alone, too, which is another subject, and one I’ve been unable to come to terms with yet.

This year, I’ve added more colored lights to the Christmas décor in my house. The pretty colors help when days are dark and night comes quickly.