Yesterday was the anniversary of my fathers suicide. 38 years. I have spent 38 years hating December.
I used to HATE Christmas. I cannot ever remember it being a joyful time. I mean, there were happy moments and always presents BUT there was a horrible tension.
We always waited for the inevitable arguments, the fights, the anger, the depression. We would wait for the crashing and burning of what could have been a perfectly decent day. The problem of course was always my father and his damn ghost. If he just wouldn’t have taken his life all would have been well.
But each year, his damn ghost would just show up every year we decorated that god forsaken Christmas tree.
Now here I am in my 44th year doing what I can to make this month a joyful, memorable one for my own family. Hoping upon hope that despite their own struggles with this month they remember these moments as joyful and full of love and light and sparkles and glitter.
That is really the gift of grief. Some years are better than others. Some days you have hope from the despair. The trick you see is to do the following:
Pause Breathe Turn in a circle with your eyes wide open to see the world all around you Pause Breathe
It’s Monday, raise a little hell. xoxoxo Dr. Melissa Bird