"2016 has been so bad it doesn't even deserve a December" I quipped as the calendar page turned.
And then it mocked me even more by throwing even harder stuff at me — death and illness for those I care about, financial struggle, smaller issues like car problems that should be easier to get through but somehow are not. It's bone-chillingly cold, and I am tired and by the time I put Beatrix to bed at night I'm slogging along and can barely face the things I have to get done still that night.
And by now it's "deep December." I always start feeling crummy and overwhelmed exactly on the 12th, and it takes me a day to remember "oh, that's the day your mom was admitted to the hospital for the last time." It's a dull, nagging pain that gets more acute every day until Christmas, and it's worse this year because it's been ten years now, and milestone days are hard. Ten years seems like a lifetime — in many ways it is.
So I'm holding on, but just barely.