For the first time since my first miscarriage more than 11 years ago, I’m not putting the named angel ornaments on the tree. I don’t know if it’s a sort of acceptance, or if it’s just too painful to see the reminders year after year. Knowing I’ve had more than a decade of sad childless Christmases is heartbreaking.
Maybe this is the year it has to stop. Maybe.
As a child, I never understood why there were so many sad Christmas songs. I questioned, since it seemed like such a happy time of year. How naïve I was! My Christmases were full of love, laughter, warmth, family, food and gifts. I had more than I could even think to ask for now. We were poor, and I knew it, but we never went without a holiday.
I’ve had a few desolate and desperate years, ones where I couldn’t motivate myself to put up the tree, where the entire month of December seemed arduous. It’s not quite as bad now, but I feel haunted by the memories they’ve left behind. I think I have never quite reconciled what I expect Christmas to be with the reality of my life now. This is only exacerbated with the advent of social media in the last several years. It’s frustrating to see picture perfect glimpses of holiday festivities. Big families, new babies, professional looking decorations and treats. I always suffer in comparison.
As I look ahead on this year, I see the negatives, and try desperately to find the silver lining. I know the sadness, the envy, the loneliness, the heartbreak and the stress this time of year brings to so many. Some years more than others, I’m reminded that I am not alone in this. I wish I could say I wasn’t; however, I do find comfort in the company.