The years when your children are still young enough to believe in Santa, the years when they can hardly fall asleep on Christmas Eve in anticipation of what they might find under the tree in the morning - those are the years that you are supposed to treasure forever. And yet, for the second year in a row, I find myself struggling to find the Christmas spirit.
Last year, the Sandy Hook tragedy shook me to my core. All those innocent little children whose lives were taken far too soon. The brave teachers who died trying to protect them. I have fairly strong libertarian views, but I must admit I found myself questioning my stance on gun control that day. I also found myself shaking my head at the state of mental health care. I am more familiar than most with maladies of the mind, and I know how difficult it is to get help for those who cannot, or will not, get help for themselves.
This year, I am faced with the reality that my beloved grandfather is dying. They have taken him off all of his medicines. They have told my grandmother to seek out help from hospice. And while I know this does not mean he will die tomorrow, it does mean that this will be the last Christmas of his life. I know he is ready to die. He "wants to get this show on the road." But I am not sure I am ready for a life without him.
Ordinarily I would turn to writing as an outlet...but I have not heard from my editor yet, and I have a horrible trait of needing to finish things before I start other things. Sigh.
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