Tag: Chanukah

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Be Fucking Merry

There are a lot of demands this time of year. Go shopping. Hit the sales. Buy gifts. Be merry. There are also a lot of complaints this time of year. Complaining about the chaos. Complaining about the money. Complaining about family obligations. The focus seems to be on what has to be done, rather than on what’s most important about the holidays; being with friends and family. What gets me though, is that people bring this on themselves. It’s not necessary to go all out. It’s not necessary to spend a fortune. Most of what is complained about is not necessary to have a meaningful holiday. And hearing the complaints now make me want to scream. I want to yell at the top of my lungs that none of it matters if you have your family with you. Because it doesn’t matter. Please, don’t lose sight of what is important. Because there are many people who would trade places with you in a second. There are family members missing from the dinner table. There are fewer presents to be bought. One less person to help decorate. Everything can change in an instant. Why spend precious time on things that don’t really matter? On things that aren’t bringing you joy but rather annoyance and frustration? When in the end it’s not what you have, but who you are with that matters.

I always loved this time of year. I enjoyed the festiveness. I liked shopping, trying to find that perfect gift. I would get so excited for Ariella to open her gifts, one small gift for each night of Chanukah with a bigger gift the last night. She appreciated everything she got, no matter how small or inexpensive. She was easy and fun to shop for.

So many traditions surround the holidays. We always made latkes and chicken noodle soup one night of Chanukah, both from scratch. We would drive around the see the light displays. Go to the train gardens. See the Nutcracker. After Thanksgiving Ariella would help decorate my aunt’s Christmas tree and set up the Christmas village. She would decorate cookies with her cousins. Though we are Jewish we have family that is not. We spent Christmas Eve with one side of the family and Christmas Day with another. New Year’s was spent with our neighbors and their daughters, last year adding a bunch of Ariella’s friends into the mix. There was always tons of food, sparkling cider for the kiddos, and then Ariella and I trying to make it to midnight. She made it twice. It was always a very busy time of year but I wouldn’t have changed a thing. I enjoyed the busyness. I looked forward to all the family time. We had a lot of fun.

Now all the traditions mean nothing. Ariella is not here to share in them anymore and I want nothing to do with them. Holidays are about family and my family has been torn apart, with the most important person gone. I don’t care about any of it and plan on ignoring all of it, including my birthday, over the next few weeks. I won’t be buying gifts for anybody. How can I shop for others when all I want more than anything is to be able to shop for Ariella. I don’t want to acknowledge any of it. Without Ariella the holidays mean nothing.

It is really hard to be anywhere this time of year, surrounded by reminders of the holidays everywhere. I had to run into a store the other day and I barely made it. Walking past the holiday displays. All the small gifts items that Ariella would love. The clothes she would ask for. Hearing the Christmas music. The holidays are the topic of conversation this time of year. I don’t want to be around happy, merry people who are excited for the upcoming weeks. I can’t relate anymore. I don’t want to be merry. I don’t want to partake in any of it. I don’t even want to hear about it.

Every day it’s a new obstacle. I’m constantly walking through a minefield and this time of year there are land mines everywhere, on top of the constant grief. No place is safe and I just want to curl up under the blankets and not emerge until January. Honestly, I would rather never emerge. I would prefer to go to sleep and not wake up. But against my will I keep on living.

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Thanksgiving Weekend Part II

The rest of the holiday weekend was… a lot. Mostly good, but a lot. It is hard to be around a group of people who are happy and carefree when you are not. Most of Friday late afternoon and night was spent in one bar or another. Surrounded by the sounds of conversation and laughter. The noise of people having a good time. I was a bit player. Mostly observing, not really taking part. I tried. I didn’t want to be a downer. I wasn’t out to ruin anyone else’s good time but I just could not fully participate. Even in a completely different context, a situation in which Ariella would never be, I missed her immensely. She is never out of my thoughts and that makes the rest of life feel meaningless. I felt like I was observing from afar. I could see them and they could see me but with significant distance. That’s how I feel most of the time. That I’m in this bubble that filters out any feelings that aren’t related to sadness or anger, leaving me feeling alone and despondent even when among people. It’s not that I don’t necessarily wish to participate, but the shadow of grief surrounding me prevents me from being more than an bystander.

Despite the cold temperature I did enjoy the football game. When watching a sporting event it is okay to be a casual observer. I could focus on the game and not worry about anyone or anything else. But of course thoughts of Ariella continued to flood my mind. Remembering the last time we were at a Maryland v Michigan State sporting event. Remembering football games we went to. Wondering if she would have enjoyed this one, or if it would have been too cold for her? I was looking forward to the change of scenery but there is no escaping her absence.

Getting away was good but by the end of the trip I was really looking forward to being back home. I didn’t want to be “on” anymore. I was tired. So very tired. I’m still tired. Grieving is exhausting. Having to live when it’s the last thing you want to do is exhausting. Just existing in this state. In constant anguish and turmoil, is exhausting. Most nights I do sleep, but I never feel rested. I am mentally, emotionally, and physically drained.

And now here we are in the thick of the holiday season. I flip through the radio stations in my car and hear a snippet of a Christmas song. For some reason Ariella loved Christmas music. She would sing the songs all year long and she battled me in the car to listen to the 24/7 Christmas music station after Thanksgiving. We don’t celebrate Christmas but we did spend it with my mom’s family. Ariella loved decorating their tree and making cookies. The ads, the decorations, the music, the reminders everywhere of happy, festive celebrations. I walk through a store and see all the gifts I would buy her. All the things she would have asked for. One small gift for each night of Chanukah. There is no hiding from the holidays. As much as I try I get hit with one thing after another after another. I used to love the holiday season. Now it just mocks me. Flaunts itself. Dangling in my face what I no longer have.

Words have not been sufficient to express how I’ve been lately. I cannot effectively write how I am feeling. The words I use cannot begin to describe what life is really like. Each day I wake up with a sense of dread, even more now that it’s holiday time. And it’s everything I can do to get through the day.

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Triggers Everywhere

Beeping. Flashing numbers. Pulse Ox. Alarms. Scrubs. Hospital bed. Dinner tray. Pink pitcher. IV bags. Things I never wanted to see or hear again. Things that immediately bring me back. To inpatient treatment when we were hopeful. The the ICU when Ariella lay dying, hooked to a machine keeping her alive, but not well enough.

The sights, sounds, and smells of the hospital should be easy to avoid. Until you have to visit someone in the hospital. Which I did. Seeing the numbers flash on the monitor brought me to our days in the ICU, staring at that screen for hours, willing the numbers to change in the right direction. The IV pole. When Ariella was feeling good she used to love to ride on the IV pole through the hallway. We spent much of 2017 in the hospital and I actually have many fond memories of that time. Because despite everything there were times she had fun, times she enjoyed. Fun visits with friends. Decorating her room. Playing games. It wasn’t all bad. In fact there were many smiles and much laughter through many of our hospital stays. Sitting in the hospital room the other day all I wanted to do was escape. Because it reminds of the fond times we had and I miss them. Because it reminds me of the horrific end of her life. Because if I’m going to be in a hospital I want it to be with Ariella.

There are the fond memories and then there are the memories of the ICU. And it’s traumatic sitting in a hospital room being reminded of Ariella with tubes coming out of everywhere, hooked up to an obscene number of machines and pumps, and not being able to be saved. I never want to see the inside of a hospital room again. I know that’s not feasible. Shit happens. Triggers can’t always be avoided.

Speaking of triggers, I wish there was a place to go from October to January, where there are no signs of holidays. No pumpkins, no turkeys, not a single strand of lights. I don’t know how I’m going to survive the next couple of months. The commercials, the decorations. The people who love the holidays, every second of them. The people who hate the holidays, because of the stress. Both make me angry. Those who love them because I used to love the holidays too. Thanksgiving was always my favorite and I just used to love the festiveness from Halloween through New Year’s. Now there’s nothing to love about this season. Ariella isn’t here to help me set the table for Thanksgiving and write the menu on her dry erase board. Her menorah will be left unlit this Chanukah. No one to anticipate the gift she will get each of the 8 nights. She was so grateful for all her gifts, no matter how small. No one to try to stay up with until midnight on New Year’s eve. Every wreath, every roll of gift wrap is a slap in the face. A reminder of what I am missing, of who I am missing. Seeing everyone happy and excited about the holidays just makes me long even more for what I can’t have. Those ranting about the stress of the holidays also make me angry. Because they should be grateful they have their families to celebrate with. Now I know many might also be dreading the holidays for the same or similar reasons as me. But those are not the people I am referring to. I am referring to those that only see the work, the stress in a holiday, taking for granted that they have a family to share it with. Holidays don’t need to be stressful. They should be about family and friends and spending time together. That makes a perfect holiday. The rest doesn’t matter. So it pisses me off when people complain about the trivial stuff that just isn’t important.

I don’t want to be in the world. This world is so fucking painful. It’s been almost 6 months without my girl and I am absolutely dreading the next couple of months. And then it will be February, the month my dad died, the month Ariella was officially diagnosed, the month that started the end of it all. The triggers, reminders, dates are never ending and I have years and years and years left of yearning, of anguish, of heartache. I just want it all to be over.