i

It’s December, the month in which my body remembers the loss of a child I never knew, never held and I don’t want to write about it, except to say all month, my body anticipates the loss and my mind can’t do anything about it. It’s worst between December 24 — the day I started bleeding — and December 29 — the night it was all over — that’s when I spiral and the world ends.

I physically anticipate the spiral all month.

Funny thing (well, not funny, but kind of interesting?) — this happened for almost 15 years without me knowing what was happening. My big epiphany — Oh, wow, this is why I now hate Christmas — which was triggered any another awful thing that happened in December, why do so many awful things happen in December — didn’t help or fix anything. The spiral is still there, pain on a scale to which only one thing compares — and hey, that’s another awful thing that happened at Christmas too. 

Point: Knowing the root cause doesn’t actually fix anything. 

Second point: I hate Christmas.

ii

Making this Christmas worse is the unlovely fact that I basically have no relationship with my father right now nor any hope of resurrecting it. We will all be together for Christmas Eve of course, because I don’t want to ruin a tradition they value and enjoy for my children. It will be awful because I have no masking bandwidth left. And I don’t want to write about that either, except for this: Children, however old they are, do not love parents unconditionally. They do not forgive everything.

Nor should they.

iii

Joyous feelings for Tis the Season to be Jolly, but here’s the thing, kittens, it’s not such a jolly season for many people, right?

It’s often a very difficult season. Also, in this hemisphere, it’s cold and dark and gross.

January, please hurry, December has also lasted too long.

iv

Sometimes — usually in September and October — I get fired up about crafting new Christmas traditions that hold space for my pain and encompass the beauty and complexity of my life. But then, the dark comes and all I can do is get through it — and give my kids a good Christmas.

Pain.

V

Advent calendars are delivered. The tree is up. Most of the shopping done — let’s not talk about the crass commercialism of the not-so-holy day.

But mostly, pain.

Vi

I don’t know where to find the joy this year. Not that there isn’t joy — there is much joy in my life. It’s all around me (you knew a Love Actually reference was coming, right? Here it is). But maybe, in December, I don’t have to. Maybe this is just my month to mope and suffer, walk with the dark in the dark.

And maybe January (let’s be honest, March) can be the re-emergence, the re-birth,

Maybe. Let’s do it like that this year.

Honour the pain.

Xoxo

“Jane”