I've taken to calling them "the Decembers." It's that gray, overwhelmed-with-it-all feeling I sink into at least once a day this time of year, when I want to be wrapped in Christmastide and making a great holiday season for my little girl, and instead it's I'm surrounded by an almost tactile sense of those weeks spent in the hospital the Christmas my mom was dying. I can almost see the cold fluorescent lights, can almost smell the hand sanitizer, and every part of my body aches in that tired way. At the same time, my eyes fill with hot tears about the things I can't share with my mom, all the things she has missed. It's an awful feeling. I hate December.
So I was sinking into that and heating up leftovers when the dog went crazy barking at the door. When I looked out, and it was my friend N, who moved away last year and who I email and text occasionally, but who has even more on her plate than I could ever imagine, and who I have not seen or felt very connected to. I'm usually not the biggest fan of surprises, but seeing her on my doorstep was the biggest and most wonderful surprise I've had in quite awhile.
She's in Minnesota only briefly to take care of a couple of things, but we had some golden time to catch up and it made me so happy. And to have those moments, and to hear her say "I always love your home so much!" on a day that I felt down and the house looked like total hell — well, it completely made my day. It pulled me right out of the Decembers.
(and then later the cat tipped over the Christmas tree, which caused total chaos, but that's another story...)