I remembered to make a list of what I wanted for Christmas this year. What I forgot was to make a list of what I would need—namely, what I would need for Christmas Day.
I needed a gift of strength that would allow me to walk into the room with the Christmas tree and stockings, the presents overflowing from all corners, and be able to do so without losing my ability to breathe, falling to tears, turning to run back to my room before everybody would see me.
I needed to be able to look into the faces of my children and our family and share their joy as they opened gifts instead of hyperventilating under the covers in my room.
I needed grief to let me go for today or, at least, give me a heads up that I wouldn't be able to participate so I wouldn't feel like such a failure with my family. I know they don't see it that way, but I feel that way.
I needed peace, not the searing pain. Not today. Today was not about me—not SUPPOSED to be about me.
Grief needs to fuck right off. I am so. Very. Tired. Of crying.
Next year, somebody remember to ship my ass to Hawaii for this day.