The Holidays and Impending Doom

Last week I sat in the car with a dear friend as I finally said the words I’ve been holding in for a while: “I think I’m depressed.”

She replied appropriately: “You think??

Once I said the words, I started to cry and tell her how I wanted to quit everything, even the things I love. I love teaching English, but I want to quit. I love writing for a magazine, but I want to quit. I love being a mom, but please no one ask me what’s for dinner for the next three months.

I’m not a quitter, so I won’t quit, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to hit pause and run away for a while.

I unloaded all of these things on Chuck’s lap when I got home that same afternoon, things he understood perfectly after living through the deaths of both of his parents and his sister over the course of eight years. He knows the feeling of wanting to quit, but yeah – we don’t do that. We BUCK UP. So I am.



And yet, it’s a new month, which means I have a renewed sense of dread to accompany the ever-present weight of grief and sorrow I’ve been carrying since December 2019.

Despite Dad being gone nearly eight weeks now, I know my body has been storing up anxiety since his first stroke. When I think about the anniversary of that event getting closer, my chest tightens and my brain runs circles around the memory. I will never forget the moment Becky called me and said, breathlessly, “DID DAD HAVE A STROKE?”

I am sad to see October go, particularly since I want nothing to do with Thanksgiving or Christmas. I’ve been in this headspace before with the holidays, so the feeling is familiar to me. We’ve managed grief through Thanksgiving and Christmas too many times – we’re nearly pros! – so I’m already unearthing some helpful coping mechanisms.

First and foremost, there will be no watching White Christmas since I can’t text Dad to tell him it’s on TV and that he needs to change the channel so we can watch it together in our separate houses.

Yeah, I can’t go there.

Thanksgiving will be the first hurdle. It was the last proper holiday we had with him before the stroke. Mom and Dad came to Thanksgiving dinner at my house, and when we said goodbye that evening, it was the last time I saw my father outside of a wheelchair or walker. It was the last time I had a conversation with him with clear speech.

We are planning a small, private service over Thanksgiving to carry out one of Dad’s memorial wishes, so I look forward to seeing Mamaw again and having the family come in town.

But, make no mistake – the whole week will feel like an anvil on my chest.

Likewise, I cannot conceive of setting up one single holiday decoration or hearing one single, solitary Christmas song. Respectfully, I am uninterested. God bless all of you swapping out your Halloween decor for Christmas trees, but I can’t join you this year. I haven’t yet sorted out how we’ll tackle Christmas, but sitting in a sad house is not a viable solution.

DAMN YOU, TRAVEL BAN. And damn you too, Covid. You’re the worst.



Okay. Shall we talk about more uplifting topics now?

OH WAIT —

Unfortunately, what kicks off the holiday season is a no-good, terrible, soul-sucking election week. Because I am politically homeless, I will be distressed either way. (I do vote though. I vote my conscience and am usually left disappointed. I’m not sure what that says about me.) Washington DC is full of bad actors, and I don’t buy anything they’re selling, particularly their deepest desire to scare the living hell out of us. NO THANK YOU.

What really grieves me is the level of distrust among fellow citizens. I have a wonderfully diverse set of friends and family members, so no matter which way this week shakes out, I’ll be worried about a chunk of them (some more than others).



Just remember this: Donald Trump did not attend your wedding. Joe Biden did not celebrate the birth of your child. Mike Pence did not congratulate you on your new job. Kamala Harris did not check on you during the lockdown to see if you were okay. Not a single politician will send you condolences when your parents pass away.

These people are not your saviors or our superheroes. They aren’t your ride-or-die friends, or your actual family members. Be careful you don’t sever the very relationships you will need as we head into the great unknown of our strange future.

Either I read too many dystopian novels, or I read all the right ones, but what worries me more than any presidency is the breakdown of our most important connections with one another. After the year we’ve had, we can’t afford it.

Godspeed, everyone. Hold on tight.