The Polar Express...

I'm struggling with something this Christmas.

It's not exactly grief or sorrow, either. Sure, they're always with me, but I have developed ways of beating myself up about them, reminding myself to be thankful for our two surviving children, for my husband, for our blessings. "Find your JOY!" I told myself at the beginning of the month. I even selected a holiday card with the word emblazoned across the top, our cherubic-looking children, all smiles, brother's arm protectively hugging his baby sister under it.

It's ambivalence.

I care, for their sakes, but at the same time, I don't. Things aren't exactly perfect. We've lost a row of lights at the bottom of the tree; they just quit. We haven't replaced them. The tree still looks beautiful with all of the children's special ornaments. It just has a dark space at the bottom.

I find it fitting.

I've tried to throw myself into the process this year. We had some time to ourselves, thanks to some childhood illnesses (conjunctivitis, colds, what-not) that kept us homebound for a week and a half and gave me extra time to decorate inside. That helps, a little. Then again, I start to see the imperfections. Santa Flaws.

I know our lives will never be perfect. Sometimes, the crooked picture on the wall is just going to stay that way for a while.

I try to take some pride in our home's external appearance, because if I allow it to reflect the chaos that rages within (me, at least), we'd most certainly find ourselves on the "all-stars" episode of hoarders.

I did my best to make this a very special holiday for the kids. We baked. We shopped. We waited in line to see the man in the red suit. It's always about them, about others, about making other people happy.

Maybe, just maybe, it would remind me of what that truly looks and feels like. My happy is not what it once was.

My joy comes with a pause and an extra 'oy.

There is something missing, something imperfect, something I can't quite get right about every holiday, especially Christmas.

I'll do my best to fight apathy. I know it's my defense mechanism to ward of the nasty emotions that come with the good.
I know, deep down, I really do care.

It would be completely unfair to her, to them, if I didn't.