It’s that time of year. For many it brings happiness and joy.

People write about it. There is songs about it.

And yet I sit here crying because of what else it brings.

Memories.

In October of 1997 my mother started experiencing headaches. At first we brushed this off as she would get them from time to time. Indeed one morning as I was leaving for work at a new job my brother was there and my mother came into kitchen with a horrid headache. I couldn’t be late for work so I told him to take my mom to hospital to get checked out. He was not working that day.

I wish for that time back. I came home that evening dirty, tired and hungry to find my dad gone and my sister in tears.

A very bad sign. Mom got much worse. I didn’t go to work the next few days. None of us did.

She a golf ball sized tumour in her head. By mid November it was the size of a baseball and they decided to remove what they could.

We tried to be brave and work. I don’t remember many details of that time. Got snowed in badly, dug myself out at a friends in city. Friends of family brought us food, such as a huge tray of lasagna. Side note most of us hate restaurant lasagna now.

Christmas had always been my moms thing. She would get new decorations every year and make the effort to bring Christmas alive. She made it magical. That Christmas was a very dark Christmas. We went through motions but none of our hearts were in it.

In January she came home from hospital and slowly regained some of self. The world gained color.

Everyone was on eggshells around here which drove her nuts. I got her to do some simple things as I made supper for family. That one simple thing of having her peel one potato brought a smile to her face. She was exhausted but happy.

Then my family lied to me and told me the cancer was gone. In hindsight they did this to make me get on with life.

It wasn’t. By June she was in wheelchair again when all her friends had a big gathering for her.

July 29th at 11:15 pm she took her last breath at home with us holding her hand.

We didn’t take it well. My sister lost her promotion at work. My brother trashed a car. And my dad withdrew.

It took me two weeks of lashing out in anger before I cried.

We all moved along but Christmas each year we did nothing and went through the motions.

Got a better job, got into snowmobiles and moved into a house of my own as my father didn’t want any of us at home anymore. Once we were gone he claimed he was shooting at mice in the house with my 22 rifle.

We never had mice before. He was also drinking a lot and had burned all the photo albums.

He remodeled the house after that. Don’t get me wrong it was nice and all. We helped where we could.

The house where I grew up still stands but the home I grew up in is long gone.

I live in a house of my own in the city. It is not my home.

Home is where your heart is. Mine exists only in my memory stuck at that one point in time of October of 1997.

Every Christmas since then the memory returns to haunt me. I cry every night from about mid December to the new year.

Don’t get me wrong it wasn’t all bad I have some really good memories. Dad died in June of 2018. He loved me as his daughter as well. I miss him just as much as mom, especially when I do some work on cars.

AND I am not alone. There are many people just like me out there that hurt just as much as I do at this time.

That magic of Christmas I loved as a kid is gone.

Sorry for the ramble but these walls are too quiet and I needed to get it out.