sad – This {______

My first Christmas without both of my parents

I always knew this Christmas would be different. I just didn’t know how different.

Christmas has always been tethered to my parents in ways I didn’t fully appreciate until they were gone. The familiar rituals—the phone calls, the meals that somehow tasted like childhood no matter how old I got, the quiet reassurances that came from simply knowing they were there—were the invisible threads holding the season together. This year, those threads are gone, and I feel the absence in every corner of December.

What surprised me most was how early the grief arrived. It didn’t wait for Christmas Eve or Christmas morning. It showed up with the first holiday commercial, the first Christmas song in a store, the first casual question of, “So what are you doing for the holidays?” Grief, I’ve learned, doesn’t need an invitation.

This Christmas feels quieter. Not just in sound, but in spirit. There’s no one to call with last-minute questions, no parental excitement bubbling over about traditions or food or plans. There’s no safety net of “home” in the way there used to be. I’m realizing that home wasn’t a place—it was them.

I’ve also noticed how grief doesn’t come neatly wrapped. Some moments are heavy and sad, exactly as I expected. Others catch me completely off guard—like laughing at a memory and then feeling guilty for laughing, or feeling oddly numb when I thought I’d be in tears. There’s no right way to do this, no checklist for surviving a first Christmas without your parents. There’s just getting through it one moment at a time.

I’m trying to give myself permission this year. Permission to say no to traditions that hurt too much. Permission to keep the ones that feel comforting. Permission to step away when it all feels overwhelming. And permission to feel joy when it shows up, even if it sits right next to sorrow.

Because that’s the truth of this Christmas: joy and grief are sharing the same space. I miss my parents deeply. I wish I could hear their voices, see their names light up my phone, feel that sense of being someone’s child again. That loss doesn’t disappear just because it’s Christmas.

But I also know they wouldn’t want this season to break me. They would want me to be gentle with myself, to find small moments of warmth, to keep going—even when it’s hard.

So this Christmas, I’m honoring them not by pretending everything is fine, but by being honest about what this season is now. It’s tender. It’s complicated. It’s painful. And somehow, it’s still meaningful.

If you’re walking through your own first Christmas without someone you love, know this: you’re not doing it wrong. However you’re surviving is enough. And even in the quiet, even in the ache, love is still here—just in a different form.

This Christmas looks different.
And I’m learning that different doesn’t mean empty.

It just means changed.

Thanks for reading. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

Fool me once…

I do believe in second chances. If I give you a second chance and you play me, you will not get a third chance.

Recently, I gave someone who has already had a second chance, a third chance. I won’t happen again. While I was puzzling out the clues that I was being played, once again…I remembered some other times that you were given “second chances”.

It will not happen again.

Brutus

Today my snuggle buddy went over the rainbow bridge to play with all the other pets we’ve ever had in our lifetime. He is with the dog who picked him out – Buddy.

He is probably annoying his sister, Kimmi. She will whack him in the head.

And all the other beloved pets who have passed.

For a cat that didn’t like me at first, he certainly came around.

Rest in peace my loving fur-ball. You were a great cat and an even better friend.

September 28, 2023 – One year

It has been one year since Hurricane Ian brought death and devastation to Southwest Florida and the recovery is slow but it is ongoing. To me it feels like we will never recover. I could tell you about my experience but I think that conversation would be better if I had it with my therapist…

My personal observations:

1. There are so many blue tarped roofs out there.

2. People forget that the same people helping with the recovery in the community are dealing with damages from the same storm.

3. A lot of people are living only parts of their houses. I know one guy who can only use one bathroom and his living room. Heart breaking.

4. Holes in houses raise your electric bill. (FACT)

5. For every person who moves out of the area it feels like six more move in.

6. Feels like it was just yesterday.

7. People who take advantage of those dealing with the aftermath have a special place reserved for them in hell.

8. I hear from a lot of people who are stuck here due to the financial devastation that Hurricane Ian brought to their lives. I know how they feel. I’d leave FL if I could afford to.

9. I cry at least once a week about Hurricane Ian’s effect on my life.

Hurricane Ian – that blue dot is where we live

I guess today is this week’s day to cry.

Thanks for reading.