I took the day off today so I could get some last-minute things done -- bake bread, take the bag of gifts for a foster child over to the mall, wrap gifts ...
Instead I feel a bit paralyzed. Something's not right and I can't seem to proceed as though all were well.
I'm missing Christmas as it used to be. As it draws closer, I miss Mike more and more. By this time, he would have been hounding me with "What'd you get me?" phone calls and loud complaints about the crowds and traffic and how rude and nasty some Christmas shoppers could be.
That's why he loved Thanksgiving so much -- it wasn't about buying.
He never did have much money to buy things, especially once he got sick.
Three years ago, he made the January trip with me, to visit friends that Rob grew up with who had become extended family and for the annual post-Christmas party at my sister's. It would be her last Chrtistmas, and she was the Christmas person in our family.
Ellen celebrated extravagantly, with Father Christmas figures in every room, a Dickens Village that took up a quarter of the dining room and a tree that took up half the living room. She cooked for weeks in advance of Christmas, and often fed 20 or more people on Christmas Day, the day before her birthday.
You couldn't hate Christmas at Ellen's house, and she never took down her decorations until after the family party. It was the one Christmas thing Mike looked forward to.
Eventually, the kids grew up, married and started bringing their own children, making the same treasured memories they carried.
I have photos and memories of Mike holding his brothers' and his cousins' kids, wrestling with his cousins, stuffing himself, sitting on Santa's lap, cuddling with Ellen's dog, a boxer named Dottie.
I miss him and Ellen terribly this Christmas.
I'm not OK.
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