It’s Christmas Eve and I went around my social media feeds to wish people the best of the season, with one Instagram post, also shared on Facebook acknowledging people mourning a loss. This year is a paradox. I sit on the couch seeing a mass broadcast from Immaculate Conception Basilica in Washington, DC, yet I went in knowing one salient truth:
This Christmas will suck.
I took breaks from the grief. My parents had TV and I watched two Iron Man films and Captain America, The First Avenger. Yeah, Richard Armitage had a not bad accent in that one. The second break came from his Christmas message. As much as I would loooooove to see Richard Armitage on stage, something akin to a musician playing an acoustic set, my fingers remain crossed for a live broadcast at my friendly, neighbourhood theatre. I ran out of vacation.
I barely wrote on this blog. I had enough energy to write in my journal, to go with the energy eeked out to get up and go on with life. That’s what grief does, it knocks you down, and now you get up but not the same way you did before.
In the meantime, tomorrow my family will gather and I will eat my weight in chocolate, or half my weight to not make the training for my relay not suck more. I got back into running, to literally put one foot in front of the other. Tomorrow I will remember.
Merry Christmas and all the best in 2020.