A few days ago, one of my sons brought up Christmas. Filled with excitement, he imagined aloud what he might get for Christmas.
Far from feeling elated myself, I felt a surge of panic at the mere mention of any day not today. This year, Christmas for me doesn’t mean candy with a side of connection, or peace with a pile of presents nabbed from under a sparkling tree.
It means the promise of even more devastation than has transpired in 2020 so far.
This time of this year, anything bigger than this moment terrifies me.
I asked that Christmas list reflections be kept in Christmas lists,
for which my husband gently chided me: Continue reading “fueled, well”