Someone asked me yesterday how Dad and I would spend the holidays. I said, “I don’t know,” but the truth is, I don’t care to celebrate at all. Screw the holidays. There’s no one to celebrate with. I refuse to celebrate with people who belittle me, judge me, think the worst of me, or steal my energy. It’s just Dad and me against the world, as always.

I thought things would be different this year. I thought we would be in the new house by now (it now looks like January or February) and that my sister would be here to help us. My sister is not coming back. My son is 15 miles away, but apparently, he doesn’t think enough of us to even check on us, by text, DM, or otherwise. My best friend is no longer my best friend, so we won’t even be having the “friendsgiving” we had talked about having every year.

I loved the holidays when my kids were little. The little things, like gifts they made in school, or watching the excitement on their faces as they opened their own gifts, were among the best things about the holidays. It was fun! One year, I even wrapped every single framed photo in the living room with colorful wrapping paper and bows to decorate the house! Imagine the kids’ surprise when they came home from school to see this! As they got older, the fun was gone.

These days, I despise the holidays. All of them. Every holiday brings back memories and brings on waves of grief and loss. This year for Christmas, the grandkids will get a little something from Dad and me. That is IF we have the money to do even that. Every penny seems to be going toward the new house, and that’s great IF we won’t have to spend another winter in this dilapidated dump we call home.