Just over here on Widow Island...

...mulling over life and the future.

 

I popped into Hobby Lobby, intending to get some supplies to make a Pottery Barn knockoff ornament, but instead bought Christmas cards and an ornament for my bedroom tree.  While I was standing in line, a woman recognized me and called over from another waiting line.  She and I used to work at the same hospital and were work buddies for a short time.  She asked how my family was - not sure if she knew about Mark - and if I had retired. (doing well, and no)  Then told me that she and her hubby have been traveling a lot.  They had down-sized to a smaller place = no yardwork, retired, and are enjoying trips to Costa Rica as well as RV traveling.  I'm glad for them - grab life while you can.  Meanwhile, here I sit on Widow Island.  No partner, working full-time, no grandchildren, no plans to travel.  It kinda made me feel like I am doing Life all wrong.  And I feel like fate got to decide that for me because I was clueless.  As much as I want any of those things, they are not happening for me right now.  So here I sit, just before Christmas, contemplating things while I stare at the sky.  And it has me wondering: If I wanted to be somewhere else, doing something else, with someone else, how would I do that?  

So that's what I'm working on, over here on Widow Island.  If you are a widow - how did you figure out where to start?

What story does this ornament tell?

Christmas ornaments can be very sentimental and hold our memories.

I have always loved Pottery Barn Christmas ornaments - they are so beautiful.  And usually, they aren't super expensive - some of the ones I have were less than $9 each and came with free shipping.  Sometimes Mark and I would get them as a gift at his office Christmas party since the boss's wife was really into PB.  And sometimes I ordered them as Christmas gifts - especially for Chloe, as a mother/daughter Christmas tradition. They were sometimes also a once-a-year splurge for the family tree which was always styled elegantly, compared to the kid's tree.  But quite literally, I was the only one who it mattered to, and I bet my kids wouldn't even remember them.

Sometimes that's how it is with such things at your house - not every thing is meaningful to everyone who lives there.

I came across an ornament that I dubbed "the magical tree".  The year it came out, bottle brush trees were having a major moment.  They sold out pretty fast, and I remember sending a photo of this one to a friend with an excited "look what I got!" message.  Over the years I have babied the storage of this ornament, wrapping it carefully in bubble wrap and tissue paper, setting it at the top of the box so I wouldn't set something else on top of it.  I never hung it on the tree because it was "special", so it tended to live behind the glass of the china cabinet.  But what was so special about an ornament I couldn't even hang on our tree?

I feel like this ornament tells a story of valuing things over experiences and people.  Over making Christmas into a pursuit and accumulation of more stuff that is pretty, but not necessarily useful or even memorable.  It made me feel nothing when I saw it, so I wasn't going to set it out anywhere this year.  Then I decided to just hang it on the tree, stop prizing it so much (if it breaks, it breaks), and think about what I truly want to feel and experience this Christmas.

Maybe this tree was a literal message to me in a bottle.

You don't have to invite him to your holidays

 This was a Big Realization.

{I had this conversation with the therapist, too.}

I asked Chloe what she would think about me hanging Dad's stocking along with everyone else's this year.  She asked me if I were "in crisis".  So that got me to thinking: she is probably in a healthy place, allowing grief to live within the Christmas season.  Why shouldn't I?  Its impossible to include someone who is no longer here.

So why would I hang a stocking?

For years, Mark was central to my Christmas. But I do not have to continue to include some homage to him -  a sentimental "Dad" gift (a mug with his picture on it, for example), a dish he would have wanted (no more ham balls!), a tradition he insisted upon (a real tree we all cut down).  And I can honor him any way I choose.  Although I could be somewhat snarky about this and say that I am doing so by living my fu*king life, I will do these things to remember him at this time of year as he was part of 40 of my Christmases:

*put a framed photo of him on my tree

*continue the Christmas traditions we set as new parents (stockings, for example)

*keep using the 1972 tree

*go to the church we married in and say a prayer for him

*hug my children which are the four best things we ever did

But the rest of whatever I do for Christmas will be based on what Gina wants.  It doesn't have to be complicated and I feel like this prolonged grief has made it so.  So as I work to untangle that, its a good idea to keep moving on with life.  And its Ok not to invite him to my Christmas this year.