Today is the day

December is always a stressful time.  I'm usually finishing a class, and I'm a procrastinator, so that means that I have a lot to do in a small amount of time.  I have to buy and make Christmas presents for people.  I have to take Susannah to church and watch her Christmas play, and take her to ballet and watch the Nutcracker and be the backstage mom.  And I still have to do the usual things - clean, cook, go to work, hug Susannah and Terry, vacuum, feed the cats; you know how it goes.  Sometimes, I have too much wine, and I get weepy, and I feel sorry for myself.  And today is the day that I feel sorry for myself.

I wish my mom was here.  I wish I could call her on the phone.  She was such a good mom.  She was funny and warm and loving and cultured and down to earth.  I'm angry that she didn't get to be the grandmother she always wanted to be.  I'm angry that she was stolen away from us, and I'm angry that her disease was so ugly and horrible to her.  It stole her voice, and it stole her body, and it stole my Ma, and that is just not right.  And that makes me angry and sad, and I feel sorry for myself that my mother is dead.

I wish my Jeb was here.  I call her 'my' Jeb, but she was everyone's Jeb.  I wanted to keep her all to myself at the end, but I knew it wasn't possible, and that made me angry.  She was the truest friend I ever had - she listened to me, she understood me, she hugged me, and she never judged me.  And she made me laugh.  And now she is gone, and I feel sorry for myself that one of the greatest people I ever knew is dead.

I'm angry that my grandparents died when I was young, and I'm angry that they lived far away.  Everyone I knew had grandparents nearby when we were growing up, and they did fun things with their grandparents.  My grandparents lived in Kansas and Minnesota, and I never even met my Grandpa Watson.  And I feel sorry for myself.

And I feel guilty today.  I feel guilt about wanting time to myself.  I feel guilty for not wanting to visit my MIL because where she lives is so sad; there are many lonely, old, frail people there, and they hang their heads as they sit in the wheelchairs in front of the television in the common room.  I feel guilty for wanting a bigger house.  I feel guilty for wanting more money.  I feel guilty for throwing out food that doesn't get eaten.  And I feel guilty for complaining about it all.

So I'll go ahead and feel sorry for myself, because today is the day that I do that.  Perhaps I'll have a good cry, and yearn for a time when things seemed easier, even though they weren't.  They were just easier compared to today.  I'll wish I still lived in Paris.  I'll wish I had a dog.  I'll wish that I had chosen another career 15 years ago.  And I'll cry some more, then I'll dry my tears and blow my nose and go to bed.

And then I'll think of all the things that I'm grateful for: my husband, my daughter, my dad, my brother, my friends, my house, my job, my car, my still-functioning brain, my still-functioning body, my sight, my hearing, my ability to communicate with others, the time I had with Ma, the time I had with Jeb, music, yarn, spring, animals, good food, good drink, and good memories.

And I'll go to sleep, and tomorrow I'll go to work, and it will no longer be the day where I feel sorry for myself.  It will be the day that I am glad that I am me.