I think holidays are going to keep being hard. I am trying frantically to remember, although it doesn't matter much, when the last holiday was that we had Mum with us. Obviously not this one, and not Christmas, because she wasn't safe to come for even a few minutes. Not Thanksgiving, they wouldn't come then, either. Maybe last Easter? Last Easter is a complete blur. I think I cooked dinner but I don't know who actually came.
Holidays have always been very important in my family. Not in a 'perfect done up' way, just in having us together. It hurts a lot that we aren't, and that I can't remember the last one.
This Lent began in a haze of grief and less than a month after Mum died. I carefully didn't give myself any Lenten disciplines, after wise friends advised against them. I just tried to start staggering towards a life not structured around managing Mum and her illness, and waited for winter to end. It's Holy Saturday today, the meat for tomorrow is in the fridge, and we are all recovering from being away at our lovely friends' Stephen and Anna-Liza's. The children all played frantically with their kids and their BRAND NEW PUPPY for twenty-four hours, which was brilliant, but Geoff and I always need post trip introvert recovery time. We'll spend today quietly with the kids, tidying up and I will spend parts sitting and staring at a wall as I feel out the shape of holidays without my mother.