Goodbyes suck, but saying goodbye on Christmas really really sucks.
This is the third year I've had to kiss my kids goodbye on Christmas and
I'm beginning to wonder if it will ever feel anything less than shitty.
Sorry for the language but this is me being 100% real.
Last
year I cried from 8pm Christmas eve until 2pm Christmas Day when my
girls arrived on my doorstep. I was an emotional TRAIN WRECK. Looking
back I feel kind of guilty for being such a Debbie Downer. Thankfully I
was with people who loved me (sobbing tears and all), but still, I can
only imagine sharing what should have been a celebrated morning with a
crying lunatic of a woman (yes, that would be me.)
This
year I was excited to have the girls for Christmas Eve and the whole
morning with Santa shenanigans. Of course they wanted to talk to their
daddy last night and I could tell by his voice he was sad and missing
them. I don't care how long you've been separated, divorced,
whatever...the pain of missing your kids doesn't really go away. Or
maybe it does, and I just haven't reached that point yet.
Santa
arrived with a ridiculous amount of toys, breakfast consisted of bacon,
carbs and cookies, and everyone was happy. The family room resembled an
American Girl war zone and while I did my best to clean up as they were
ripping open presents, I decided to let it go. My phone was buzzing
with text messages, Facebook notifications, and voice mails from family
and friends. I ignored all of them because the clock was ticking. I knew
I had a limited amount of time with my girls before it was time to say
goodbye. Nothing was more important than cherishing this Christmas
morning.
Even though they were exhausted, whining and
practically killing each other by the time their daddy came to pick them
up, I didn't want to let them go. The dark cloud of loneliness was
hovering over my head and I just wanted an umbrella to shield my heart.
The doorbell rang and I took a deep breath. "Holiday, you need a break...this isn't the end of the world"
I repeated to myself. But no avail. The lump crawled into my throat and
I choked back tears. As I buckled their car seats and kissed them
goodbye I made the walk of shame with my head held low (faaaaarrr
different from the collegiate one).
Here comes the
shitty part. I walked into the family room, sat down on my couch, and
cried (it was the ugly kind). Piles of toys were painful reminders of
what was ultimately over. My family Christmas. In what seemed like a
flash, the morning was over and my girls were gone.
If you know me personally you're well aware of my flair for the dramatic. Just last week my mom and I watched The Holiday and she giggled as Kate Winslet sobbed inconsolably over her kitchen sink. "Holiday, she reminds me of you!" Thanks Mom...I guess? If you've seen the movie you know the scene...and that was kind of me this morning.
Thankfully
this is third time I've experienced this so there were a few things in
my favor: 1) I knew it was coming 2) I knew any attempt to fight or deny
myself the pity party would be a failure and ultimately postpone the
inevitable and 3) I knew I had to get out of my house.
As
the leading lady of my own life, I'm happy to announce there is,
indeed, a love interest. He invited me to join him (and his children)
for Christmas dinner, and I was happy to accept the invitation. Besides
the fact that I absolutely love hanging out with them, it was nice to know I had somewhere to go tonight (if you're going through this process always always always plan ahead for times like this so you aren't alone). I was welcomed with big hugs, kisses, and presents.
And then we went to the Waffle House.
Yes.
We went to the Waffle House for Christmas. Although it wouldn't have
been my dinner location of choice, I quickly realized this was their
sacred family tradition. Because, he, too, understands the pain and
silence of an empty house, and, well, the Waffle House is pretty much
the only restaurant open on Christmas day. Surrounded again by bacon and
carbs, I embraced their tradition and ordered a Coke. A real one.
Even
though I knew the evening would end with me returning to an empty,
quiet house, my heart was full and the lump in my throat was gone. Maybe
it was the bacon. Maybe it was something more. Whatever it is I realize
Christmas isn't what it used to be anymore...and as sad as that can be
I'm also learning time can heal most wounds. The pain of saying goodbye
might never go away, but hopefully the empty house part will.
As I sit here solo, enjoying a glass of wine and Skittles, I can only imagine what 2014 has in store for me.
xoxo, Holiday
