Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and the holiday season has been in full swing for a couple weeks now. Since my grandmother passed away nearly five years ago, this time of year has been hard. I still remember the last birthday we celebrated with her, just before she died. Traditions haven’t been the same since then, and the joy of the holidays have been tinged with a bit of sorrow. This year, though, I find that I’m having a much harder time than usual.
There are a lot of family things going on right now that have put a damper on this holiday season. Everything seems to really be piling on, weighing me down, and I can’t find the desire or the strength to get into a festive mood. Honestly, I feel like everywhere I turn there are reminders that things aren’t the same as they were. And they aren’t the way they should be.
Every holiday season that goes by, I’ve always hoped and believed that things would be different next year. That we wouldn’t have empty arms. When I got pregnant in March, I was so relieved and excited that things would really be different come the holidays. It was such a miracle. I fully believed that we’d have a baby in our arms just in time for Christmas.
When I got pregnant in September, I had so many plans for this holiday season. We were going to announce our pregnancy to our families during Thanksgiving. I bought a shirt to wear, that says “baby” in gold lettering. We planned to announce to the world around Christmas. We talked about how this would be our last Christmas without a baby in our arms.
Now we’re facing another holiday season with empty arms, and it’s harder than ever before. Between pregnancy announcements for June 1018, and my rapidly approaching first due date, I am at a loss for how to make it though the next couple months. I really didn’t expect it to be this difficult.
Our house has never seemed so quiet.
Our home has never felt so empty.
But still, I have hope that next year will be different.