They've come and gone, the eight million days of Christmas. There's still New Year's Eve to wrap things up, to be certain. We've got good plans this year. It's all so familiar, yet all so surreal.
I keep thinking, "Last year . . ." all while living this year. And this year's holiday season has been a good one. But there's still last year's memories to contend with.
The gifts have been opened, played with, stashed in their new places. Photos taken on our crappy camera--I curse that damn thing every time I try to take a picture. I have approximately one good photo out of 300--but the pictures have been uploaded and ordered anyway. Cookies have been baked, eaten, also cursed for being so delicious and handy. The haze of the days is slowly washing off.
And yet. As one year approaches, I still find it hard to believe. Did that really happen? Do I have a daughter who died? Yes, dear. Yes I do.
We keep going. We laugh. We smile. We show up. We bake cookies. We wrap gifts. And sometimes amidst those happy things we cry. That's what we do. That's how it works.
My brain is still in newborn-cum-holidays fog. I've been composing some brilliant posts during O's middle-of-the-night feedings. Unfortunately by morning, they're lost. But I'm assuming one day I'll be able to string something of consequence together.
Until then, I'm counting down the days to bid 2010 a kick-in-the-ass-out-the-door adieu. This motherfucker was a shit-ass year. Mostly. With lots of good stuff sprinkled around the edges.