It Sure Won’t Seem Like Christmas
Everyone has a sad story to tell about this year. A vacation you’d been looking forward to that never got to happen. An accomplishment you were on your way to completing and now you’ll never know if you could have done it. A fun event you had planned that you had to move to zoom. Lame! So many small gatherings you had to also move to zoom — if you found the motivation to move them at all.
There are 300 thousand Americans who are not able to tell their really sad story about this year.
I’m waking up each day to find how depressed I am. Some days not much at all. Some days the waking up happens at 11, and that’s a pretty good indicator of a really positive person who is struggling to stay positive. Yesterday Zane and I compared reasons we had been crying.
Happy holidays everyone!
Depression comes from suppressed anger.
I have a few things I am angry about, and they all boil down to this: WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH US?!
Perhaps we didn’t know what to do about a global virus 9 months ago. Perhaps we all overreacted and bought toilet paper and clorox instead of remaining calm and trusting experts to figure out what we should do. But guess what? Now we know! We know!
We’ve seen other countries be successful in eradicating the virus almost completely. In Australia, no one is even wearing masks anymore. It’s as if they devised a plan and implemented it according to facts. AND IT WORKED. It sucked and was hard. It took months AND IT WORKED.
Now I feel some days like I am ready to say, Forget it. Let’s just go back to life and whoever gets sick, gets sick. God will handle the rest. That is really, really tempting. Except God has given us brains. God has given us hearts. And I’m not a math wizard or anything but I can understand that if 356,000 Americans have died while about half of us were wearing masks and social distancing, if we stop doing those things the number of deaths is going to go up. Way up. Convince me otherwise.
And while I don’t know anyone who has died of coronavirus myself, if the number of fatalities does go up, the likelihood that someone I love will die must also go up.
So it seems pretty obvious that we can’t just go back to normal and “let God sort it out.” (We can fantasize about playing God and each choosing one person who would get the virus. Oh! I know who I would pick, easily. I used to just want him to get a vasectomy, but the coronavirus seems like a good alternative… Wow. I’m angrier than I thought!)
I’m so mad that this is still happening. That our beloved Grandpa isn’t allowed to come see us for Christmas. That no one’s beloved grandpas get to come see them. I’m so mad that my kids social growth has been stunted for an entire school year. Not to mention the FUN of being a teenager! People look back on their lives and write songs about “being 16” and how they wish they could go back to that. Well Darla’s sweet sixteen (and Zane’s 15) has pretty much been a steaming pile of crap and I’M VERY MAD ABOUT IT!!!!
Years ago I remember realizing that I enjoyed parties a lot more if I only went to one a night.
Geez, I could cry reading that sentence.
This December has given us ZERO party invitations. ZERO big family meals. ZERO trips to the mall to shop for gifts. ZERO caroling events. ZERO advent services to sing together and pray.
This must be what the grinch felt like, his heart 2 sizes too small.
I don’t even want it to be Christmas. I’ve made the cookies, the chex mix, the fudge. I’ve decorated the shit out of my house. I’ve played the Christmas music. I’ve called some dear, distant friends. And still, like Elvis sang, “It sure won’t seem like Christmas without my baby here.”
I’m sure it doesn’t feel much like a holiday to the domestic workers I know who have had no income and can collect no unemployment because they were paid (BY PEOPLE JUST LIKE US) under the table to clean their houses and care for their loved ones/children.
Don’t tell me to do it on zoom. Don’t tell me to practice yoga and meditate. Guess what? I’m doing ALL OF THAT. And it’s not the point. I’m mad and instead of suppressing my anger I’m letting it out. I know you are mad, too. Let it out!
Being depressed is depressing! I’m over it. I’m letting you know how angry I am and it’s probably your fault. I’m mad at you.
I’m mad at me!
I’m mad at all of us because we can do better. We could’ve done better. Now who even knows what we’re going to do.
Way to go America. We’re #1.