Hard to swallow

I'm trapped between the elation of finally having some cool weather and this sense of impending doom. I've often found that I'm more alive, more me, when the weather turns crisp. I guess after having about 10 months of sweltering heat, anyone would feel refreshed to be able to throw open the windows and welcome a breeze.

And yet, there's also the sadness that follows this season. For some reason the holidays are a time of depression for me. Sure, there's the fact that we're too broke to really buy all the things we want to buy for everyone. Yes, I know, the holidays are about a whole lot more than gifts, and that's something I want to instill in Jonas and in the rest of my family, but at the same time, it's hard to not get swallowed up in the commercialism of the season. And it's highly embarrassing when your best friend goes out and does something special for you, and you have nothing in return. Ugh.

I have a family friend that makes a tray of homemade cookies and treats every year. I have to admit that I long for that more than I do any storebought gift. There's just something so special about things that come handmade. It took her hours in the kitchen to make all of those delicious treats, and that means a hell of a lot more than the dollar figure at the bottom of any reciept. I just don't know how many other people feel that way. When I give hand made gifts I often feel like they're under-appreciated, or seen as cheap escapes.

One year I made lavendar filled heat pillows for everyone. They were wonderful, cozy, soothing. They got tossed in closets and never used. The only one that I know got any use at all was the one I kept for myself.

So I can't afford to shop this year. I mean, sure, we're going to get Jonas and the other kids something but it's not going to be nearly what we want it to be. But the rest of the family: sorry. I can't afford to joepardize the little bit of financial stability we have in order to lavish extravagant gifts on them.

And all of this amounts to a hill of beans in comparison to the underlying sadness right now.

The diagnosis is lung cancer. It's already spread into the lymphatic system. The doctor's word for it is "fast". Thanks, that's comforting. So, despite the dwindling budget and the piling bills, I'm determined to make it home for the holidays, if nothing more than to say goodbye to Daddy Dean. I don't think I've fully absorbed the fact that this is the end. If I had I'd be able to write about it, flesh it out, rage at the total unjustness of losing another grandfather to cancer. Instead there's just this numbness and this false sense of time. Time to say goodbye. Time to fit in a lifetime of memories and love. Time to fill all the years full of gaps and short visits.

The lesson: Life is a bitter pill, and I'm finding it hard to swallow.