I wish December would disappear

I warn myself time and time again, the problem with making good progress is that I and others expect me to be on a perpetually upward trajectory with my grieving and healing.   

I haven't had a meltdown of any size since August 15.  Any good statistician will tell me one is due, and I should prepare myself.  It's like a seismologist predicting the biggest earthquake ever.  "The big one is due any day now!"  

I wish December would disappear.  It's freezing.  It's dark.  It's wet.  Feliz Navidad on every radio station, and if you're unlucky, you get Michael Bolton.  December is also my wedding anniversary, which I opt to no longer celebrate.  Then there is the monthly 15th.  And Winter Solstice.  

Eric and I always celebrated the solstices with our version of fanfare.  Winter Solstice trumps Christmas at the Gilmans.  The only days you get better meals are birthdays.

The seasonal significance of the winter solstice is in the reversal of the gradual lengthening of nights and shortening of days.  Many cultures hold a recognition of rebirth.  I love the symbolism, the representation of the circle, and cycle, of life.

For me, one of the most welcoming parts about Winter Solstice is, still, the absence of commercialism.  There is no obligatory gift giving.  Hallmark has yet to flood the card aisle with "For My Dear Wife, Happy Winter Solstice" cards. There is no Winter Solstice wrapping paper.  Or catchy tunes about a flying ungulate with a glowing red nose.  To a simple mind like me, it works.  

This holiday season, like any holiday season in past years, I need no gift.  What I want most, I will never and can never have back.  So, I must look beyond.  To evolve the love that was, into what is and what is to come - and what is to become. My dear friend Suzanne understands this well; she recently lost her mother.  It is easy to text about it with her about death.  The concept of death is so profound and so definitive that it won't hit you until it hits you.  Then, the finality of its silence is deafening.  

The definitive nature of Eric's death has started to hit me, when I made a conscious decision that I shall no longer celebrate the day I married him.  This day will always bring fond memories of deep love, but it will no longer be celebrated.  Nor will I mutter the words "it would have been 8 years…"  Those words are unnecessary.    

December will not disappear.  It arrives in eight days.  Darkness, coldness, dampness, the memories of my wedding day, Ten Month, Winter Solstice, Feliz Navidad, and yes, Michael Bolton.  And, the potential of a big meltdown according to a good statistician.  

Exactly one month to the Season of Rebirth, I do have some things to wish for.  I wish for a full year of paradigm-changing experiences.  A year of unconventional thinking.  A year of just the right amount of meltdowns.  A year of courageous decisions and behaviors.  A year of standing tall with my spine straight-up.  A year of great health, glowing skin, belly laughs.  A year of loving fully, freely, fearlessly.

Above all, I wish to live another year "All In" in life.  

Winter Solstice 2008
on my street