happy hole-idays, from one swiss cheese heart to the rest of them.

It's been 2 days since Christmas, and more than anything, I feel some strange combo of relief, exhaustion,  almost debilitating bleakness, and this undercurrent of gratitude somewhere in all of it. 

                                                

Words are not in existence that can just-so describe the condition of my home. Words probably aren't available that can explain what's happening on my insides, either. 

Relief. 

The holiday storm has abated. Kids, family, noise, more-than-the-usual disarray, the crash of hurricane waves, in shifts, then tide rolls out with the mere change of calendar days.  Funny how the actual numbers on that little wall square can dictate so much. "24" says anticipation swell. It inhales and exhales hope, advent, Jesus, The Arrival. Hymns, candles, we'll get along for Mom just this once, the obligatory greetings at home, in stores, or at church. When that wee block on the wall gets to "25" though, it carries with it in many homes the pressures of framing the photos instagram-perfect ("no no, take 178 more, Mom"); taking turns to unwrap (or not); breadwinners, standing off to the side, steeling themselves from the weight of all the upcoming bills; the "does this taste ok" and "hurry to the car" for round two/ three/ ten; this mom feeling guilty about the landfills, and realizing more families than hers pour into them. Navigating, smoothing, reading the room, adjusting. With that calendar spotlighting the 25th day, adrenaline still flows; beer, laughter, and food are abundant; and for some, the holiday cheer is aided a great deal with being still and knowing, even if the "still" is taking a minute to walk a dog or hide with the washer and dryer hum. Day 26, though, is rough. It's a wisp of a recovery day, to take some stock after the surge retreats. For me, it was a day of trying not to look at the unbearable visual noise, hiding under the covers, and waiting out the clock. All day ready for bedtime. Which segues nicely into my first little subtopic.

                                          

Exhaustion. 

I'm convinced that there's no tired like mom-after-Christmas tired. Perhaps human-after-Christmas tired? Parent-after-Christmas tired? Plain old "parent tired"? 

At any rate, life is difficult enough alone, plus holidays, but then add to it the personal everythings that have all crushed onto me in the last two to three weeks. I'm just, well, I'm exhausted. Ironically, Aaron and the girls gifted me with items to aid in this time of needed rest; I received swaths of cozy furry fabric, yarn, a robe, and a significantly weighted blanket. Apparently I look like I need a lifetime of naps. It's ok because I feel like it, too. 

                                       

Bleakness.

The cold outside matches what I fear is growing internally. Walls erected, warmth frozen over, and emotions timidly on hold, staying put, protected. I can clearly sense retreat, withdrawing; I am perfectly content with very little sound and zero emotional chaos. Seeking calm, craving solitude, desperate for grey, barren solace. I want so much to be safe, to wrap myself into the Narnia of furs and fluff, hiding in far lands of War Drobe, ensconced safely in my own Spare Oom. I don't want to emerge for anything, for anyone, unless it's whisper-quiet. I want people to stop asking me questions, to stop demanding things of me, to hang up their towels, or flush, or go about their lives while I go about mine. In here. In my cozy, weighted, safe.

Additionally, I'm gut-wrenched about my sweet daddy. Yes. Oh my gosh, I mean, how could I live in anything but sadness and heart-holed at this moment? Most of that stems from guilt, anger, missed opportunities. I don't miss holidays with him, sadly, because my adult life was full of the busy and the misplaced priorities; enter heavy, swiss cheese heart full of holes and of whole remorse for not having those memories and for being jealous of the ones who did. My fault, no one else's. Ergo, the "missing him" grief has been yanked hard away and crammed in its place with regret. Which is worse? 

                                                         

The sad swims around the loss of my always-has-been person, too- my sister. Navigating Dad's death with her and yet, not having her at all, being slammed into the emptiness with her right by my side. More holes in the unwhole, my heart turned sad, seeing her and not having her.

                                         

This subject will have to be a separate blog post, but for now I say this: our paths have taken us different ways. Prayerfully, the relationship can one day be restored; it seems, though, that we will never again be what we once were, and I have to resign myself to that. Misunderstanding clouds the confusion, assumptions take over where reason seems to have no place, and the only things left are prayer and time.

Gratitude.

So much yuck, but so much lovely, too. The grands - lively, wild, and oh-so-loud - taking up space in our home and landing plunk firmly in my forever. Their volume is the opposite of what these old lady ears and this grom heart wants, but somehow, I do find it in myself to push past the piercing shreiks and still my soul to the sounds of their innocence. They are life-giving, even if I don't think I've got it in me, the little voice that says "HEY GROM!!! GROM!!! WUVVV YOU!" snaps me back and offers tiny bits of sustenance, if only for the few seconds I have their tiny attention. I'm thankful that my daughter and her husband have been given the gift of life, times several, even after their losses prior to the boys. Rainbows are God-sent, and glorious reminders of His promises. I see them- not just in Sprout & Taddy, but in so many of His just-waits...

                        

The after-Christmas shambles almost makes me sick and comes close to rendering me pretty useless, but if I sit for a second, get out of my own head, and really look at it, the mess is so indicative of life. Life happens in the trash all over the house, the drawings all over the walls (chalk, thank you, Baker), the giant dust bunnies and the books about bunnies running away, in the piled up dishes and laundry all over the floor. One tiny area of gratitude surrounding the chaos of my home is that I got to hide yesterday, pretty much from everything and everyone, and I did absolutely nothing. For which I am thankful. KJ cleaned a dresser that's been a disaster since we moved, Aaron did dishes and laundry, I let Bonham have a day of screens (heaven for him), and the soundtrack to the day was little boy laughter and mama admonishes.

                                                 

This sounds silly, but I'm grateful, too, for the trees in our home - though mostly undecorated this year - they are a reminder that there is simple beauty in all the bananas. We've got a fancy-ish one for whomever stops by, visible and storied, with added pops of white and red tissue and family decor.  The real tree, though- bestowed upon us by Jen and Joe, who cut her down for us when we couldn't be at our annual tree gig- that's such a blessing.

                                                  

The tree has 3 ornaments on it, and she's in our room, hidden away with me, in the dark and quiet, resolute and lovely. She wore the PolEx track until Baker took that job from her; she guarded the gifts until Hurricane Holiday descended upon us; and she'll nightlight for us for a few more nights, until she stops drinking her water. She belongs.

                                       

This appears to be largely a "woe is me" entry. It isn't, necessarily- I'm simply attempting an explanation for some of the brain and soul-tired that is heaped onto the already holiday-heavy. All this weight muddies a darkening swirl of brown in the air and in myself, and I'm trying to sort out the thoughts. How does one maintain space in the soul and the brain for grief juxtaposed against gratitude? How do I decide which is a mess and which is just a part of life? When do the dust bunnies and depression (under the couch and in my spirit) lose their battle and the mom-warrior stands up to take over?

                                            

How do we go from heart-holed to heart-whole in all this? 

...universe? 

...hello?

-selah, 

J.