December's hurricane

I began my journey of my parents with you about this time last year. I think I can safely say you already know how my 2015 went, so I won't replay it for you.

Peaceful night in April.

Yet, in spite of it all, my faith in God grew, and I experienced one of the most blessed times of my life. Sure, I had a lot of difficulties in there, but my faith sustained me.

Then December happened. When people have talked about grief with me, they've often referred to those "waves" that crash over you ... some expected, and some not.

The wave that hit me in December — when Koda died — came quite unexpectedly. I had no idea it would be so big. I had no idea I would nearly drown.

With December came the ugliest wave of anger and sadness I have experienced so far on this journey. It was as if, in the cycle of grief, I was just getting to the anger part. That wave knocked me down so hard, I barely came up for air. I think I spent most of December under water, lungs about to explode.

I love these little furry blessings.

Don't misunderstand me. I didn't think I would just float unaffected through this first Christmas without my parents. I made plans — we made plans — to ease the journey a bit. I have no idea which parts of the plans or the things we did or didn't do made it possible for me to come up for air every so often, but I did. In every day ... almost ... I had some good moments. And while family was here visiting, I had several good talks and times with people.  I even made sure to express gratitude and thankfulness to God for the family and pets I do have. Every day.  I also stuck with my morning Bible study, meditation and prayer routine.

But after Koda died, the tears flowed relentlessly. Everything made me cry. It was as if my parents had just died and I was starting over. I was irritable, depressed, in a lot of physical pain, and just plain weepy. I felt like I had no control over what was happening to me, no matter how hard I prayed or tried to practice serenity and all that good stuff I've been taught.

Just didn't happen. ... Dammit.

When we returned from vacation, I begrudgingly put up our decorations. Dorsey did the tree since nearly every ornament was a gift from my mom, and I wasn't ready to go there. I did feel glad and more in the mood for Christmas once the house "looked" like Christmas, but I never much got into the music.

Me ... on Melt Down Morning.

I baked, which I enjoyed until I messed up one of my favorite cakes. Then I had a major MELT DOWN!! That was an "interesting" morning.

I wrapped gifts with more care than I have in the past; I tried so hard to be good at it because my mom took great pride in how her gifts looked. The presentation of her gifts to us was part of the gift she gave. But really, I just suck at it.

We decided to follow our usual Christmas Eve tradition of Mexican pile on dinner and family gifts. We've always done that at Mom and Dad's, but our house hosted this year. I felt detached instead of fully present. I suppose I was in survival mode, even though I had moments of laughing and fun.

We tried to start a well-meaning tradition in honor of my *silly dad (see story below). I felt nothing, except maybe sadness. It didn't at all turn out the way I envisioned. (Expectations are the devil.)

I tried to imagine Mom and Dad looking down at us from Heaven's portal, cheering us on. Eh ... Just made me cry.

Christmas day, I stayed in my pjs. Physically, I hurt, and Jordie and Dorsey went on to see "Star Wars" without me. (I had spent the last two days watching the previous ones to get psyched up, but I never made it to the new one.)

I just think I wasn't ready for all that festivity. I think if it had been left to me, I could have gone through Christmas without the usual hoopla. I would have just observed the reason we even have Christmas (Thank you, Jesus.) and left it at that.

Yesterday, I happily packed up Christmas decorations and got the house back in order.

I officially washed up on the sand like a beached whale (yes, really). I didn't drown after all, but I'm totally water-logged and still gasping for air.

Maybe I was a Grinch and a Scrooge this year. I didn't want to be. I tried. I really did. I tried for my family to be "good," but I just wasn't.

Maybe next year.

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Origin of the "Dad" gift

He just looks ornery.

Several years ago, when the boys were still small and too young to do any shopping for anyone, we were at my parents on our usual fun, silly, festive Christmas Eve, opening gifts after stuffing ourselves with Mexican food and desserts.

Our family tradition is to pass out the gifts and then watch each person open one gift at a time. We go around the room until all the presents have been opened. It fell to my dad to open the last gift of the night. It was a big box, and my mom had a most puzzled look on her face.

"Willy, where did that come from?" she asked. (Willy is a childhood nickname.)

"Oh, it's just a little something the boys gave me," Dad said.

We all looked at each other like, "What's he talking about? The 'boys' can't get anyone anything."

He opened the gift and pulled out a nice pair of Ostrich cowboy boots he had bought for himself. And then he just fell over laughing and laughing hysterically at himself. He (and we) thought that was the most hilarious thing to ever happen ... and heck! Why didn't we think of that?

We will never forget ...