It’s the quiet times that get you.
Everyone has significant concern about the mental health of others during the holiday season. I get that to a certain degree. Times of celebration when you’re not feeling the least bit happy. Seeing people when that sounds like the most soul consuming thing possible. I understand this now more than ever. The thing is, it’s not the hustle and bustle or the crowds or the music that are really the issue. The issue is the quiet.
My daughter went out with friends tonight. No work tomorrow, time to go and catch up and celebrate a little. See a movie they’ve wanted to catch or a concert or something. I absolutely approve.
That leaves me here, in the quiet.
Quiet is the dangerous part. It’s when you’re not interested in watching anything or reading anything or listening to some podcast or interview or sports report. There’s so much noise and nothing that has anything that makes me want to pay attention. It’s empty and they know it as much as I do, and media is desperate to keep us hooked. So I shut it all off.
Stillness, dim lights and lots of time to think. To remember. To cry again.
I have one small advantage. I remember that Rebecca was absolutely NOT a fan of the Christmas season. She actually kind of hated it because it meant that all her “we put the fun in dysfunctional” family was getting together again and something bad was likely to happen. She used to volunteer to take holiday shifts at work for other people and did her level best to avoid the whole thing. She didn’t want to join my family for the holiday either, but did so to avoid making things awkward.
So, many years ago, Beck and I set out to create our own traditions. We decided on the things that would be important to us about our holiday and what we were going to do. We would order Chinese take-out on Christmas eve. We would watch The Grinch, Charlie Brown’s Christmas and maybe Frosty if we had the time (after all, much like Professor Hinkle, we were busy, busy, busy). We made up a theme for our tree so that no two years would be the same. It was glorious.
This year would have been our 28th (I think, the accounting is fuzzy at this point) tree, but Beck isn’t here to see it. That’s the sort of thing that sneaks in during the quiet times and punches you in the feelings. That’s when the quiet gets you.
My daughter and I decided that it was important to continue all these traditions this year and in honor of Beck we decorated our tree in the same colors as the Bisexual pride flag. We won’t be alone here either. Friends help. Here it is in all its unbalanced glory. Merry Christmas to those who celebrate, to all others, have a safe, joy filled and wonderful holiday season whatever you celebrate.
