Holidays are hard

The holidays are hard, they have been for years. Ten years ago I was unknowingly pregnant, it was at this time I started experiencing abdominal pain. In the early hours of January 1st I miscarried in a hospital bathroom.

Four years ago, my mother was in the hospital. On December 16th, 2017 I found out she had cancer. On December 17th, her 67th birthday, she told me she wanted to take sleeping pills and pain killers to stop the pain. I knew in my gut she was telling me she wanted to kill herself. I called my brother, and we called an ambulance. My mom was admitted to the hospital where they gave her pain medication and eventually started palliative chemotherapy. She was supposed to have a few months extra. On Christmas Eve, we ate swiss chalet in the hospital, we laughed, and we loved one another. She looked happy. On Christmas day, she had abdominal surgery for an intestinal blockage. The blockage was making the chemo worse, she was extra sick. They opened her up to discover the chemo was pointless, the cancer had spread and taken over everything. The cancer was the blockage. The doctor phoned me Christmas day and told me my mother would die any day. There was nothing left to do. She was heavily medicated and was never conscious again. She died on January 1st, 2018.

One year ago, December 17, 2020, I conceived a child. We didn't know until the new year that we were blessed. We said it was our last childless Christmas without knowing it, and relished in the way we celebrated. We miscarried February 16th, 2021. 

Holidays are hard. I put on a brave face, I set up Christmas, I pretend to love it. I sometimes love it. Most of the time I'm sad. I'm sad for the people I've lost. I'm sad for the memories not made.