Except for this past holiday season.
It was awful. It was the height of my depression and frequent trips to the emergency room. The last thing on my mind was getting a tree, buying gifts, hanging ornaments and decorating with twinkly lights. In addition to the Christmas tradition, I am also Jewish, so every year my daughter and I bring down the Menorah in preparation for lighting the candles prior to the first night of Hanukkah. It's a tradition for both of us; a tradition that has meant the world to me since she was born. Since she was 4 years old, I always helped her with the shamash candle as her eyes brightened with such uneasy impatience as we lit the candles for each night. Watching her glow as we do this together has become more than a gift to me. It's our own tradition as mother and daughter.
Not this year. This past year was the first year I kept the Menorah in its usual year round spot. Sitting high above our shelves above the kitchen cabinets. As always, I purchased the Hanukkah candles early, only to have them sit unopened in the bottom drawer. Even now when I look at the unopened package, it brings sadness to my eyes, and my heart.
I couldn't even comprehend the spirit that has always uplifted me during that time of year. It was difficult enough to put on—what I call—a facade while I was out in public, but to be in my own home masquerading as though nothing was happening to me, was just too painful. I didn't want the reminder of the holidays surrounding me within my own private, safe space. It was too much to bear.
At first, my husband and daughter were very understanding of this. Per my insistence, they were planning on buying and decorating a tree without me. For the most part, I was comfortable with this; almost relieved as I was not expected to take part, but as the days inched closer and closer, I knew I couldn't handle these holiday traditions without participating. So I tried, I tried my hardest to get involved, only to break down in the midst of it. Most people will realize it, and snap themselves out of that 'funk' and continue on with hopes of not ruining it for their loved ones.
Me? I wasn't in the right state of mind to do that. I didn't think logically, nor did I think rationally. I just did. I only reacted.
As I look back, I wish I was able to prevent my actions for making those 'crappy' holidays worse, I only wanted it to be enjoyable for my family, but what I ended up doing instead was making it worse for them, not better. As the holidays progressed, they continued to walk on eggshells, instead of enjoying that jovial time of year—but it was completely justified.
It has taken me this long to look back and regret it all. Regret what I put them through, regret how they couldn't enjoy their holiday season like most of the world, but to make them scared and concerned for my well-being and my health, when they should have been celebrating and enjoying the festive holiday season instead.
I look back and wonder how my poor daughter must have felt every single day during that time. Not celebrating like her friends, but worrying about mommy. Waking up everyday wondering if mommy was gonna have to go to the hospital again, or if mommy was gonna go into a crying fit, or if mommy was gonna hit herself again—repeatedly. I hate what I put my family through, and I hate how I ruined their holiday, but I can't change that now, I can only move forward and hope that this upcoming holiday will be different; will be the complete opposite.
As I sit here on the last day of May, writing this, it only makes me look forward to the holiday season that much more. I will eagerly mark the days off the calendar with anticipation for the months to quickly pass so I can start anew. Start a new tradition, an idea I have in lieu of a Christmas tree. Something fun, something funky, something new. A rebirth, if you will, as we will continue forward and move on with our lives happily and normally once again.
Start a new tradition.
Only 6 more months to go.
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