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Today is one of those days where it’s hard to feel thankful for anything.  The holidays are coming up.  Thanksgiving is usually my favorite holiday, but this year it just seems like something I’m obligated to do.  Christmas has always been my mom’s (and my dad’s) favorite holiday.  I swear, sometimes I thought they got more excited about it than we kids did.  Now I can’t seem to get excited about it at all.

I want Thanksgiving to be good.  I want everyone to enjoy the food and company, but none of us is going to be feeling thankful.  All we’re going to be feeling this Thanksgiving and this Christmas is the huge hole my mom used to fill.  None of us can do what she used to do, which right now seems a lot like more than any single human being could ever do.  None of us can be her.  My mom was like the glue that held everyone together.  She was in everything.  She did everything.  She organized the clam bakes and holidays, she worried so no one else would have to worry, she called people and made sure they were going to get their little white butts to our house because our house was THE place to be, she made sure it was.  Now what is it?  It’s still Home but it’s not the same anymore.

We’re all going to be thinking about my mom, and there’s going to be a lot of uncomfortable silence and stupid crying.  I hate crying when anyone is around me.  I try and do all of my crying when I’m alone, because my grief and my pain are mine and I don’t want to share them.  Some of us are still mad; angry with her or with God or with the Universe or with Life in general.  Sometimes being angry is the only way I can get through anything, a minute or an hour or an entire day.  It’s easier to be the strong one when people need me to be strong for them, I know I get that from her, but just because it’s easier doesn’t mean it’s easy.  It isn’t easy.  It’s the hardest damn thing.

After Thanksgiving there will be a month to recover before Christmas, which I think is going to be the hardest thing I’ll have had to endure since the wake.  A month to let it all out and to somehow find and store up all the strength I’m going to need for Christmas

I know it’s natural to grieve.  I know it’s natural to be in pain when someone you love dies, and you’re supposed to talk about it.  But when we’re all together I don’t want to talk about it.  I don’t want to talk about her at all.  I want to pretend like nothing happened and just go through the motions, but somehow everything is broken and different and stupid.  Even me.

I don’t feel like writing my novel at all today, but I’m going to write tonight anyway.  My mom used to write all the time.  She wrote on everything, the same way I draw on everything.

God, I miss her.

Word count:  (still) 21’660

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