It’s the start of one of the two six week stretches of the year that can be very difficult for this Motherless Daughter. Thanksgiving through Christmas, with my birthday in between. The holidays are hit and miss for me. Most parts can be really good–some still very difficult. Sometimes the ratio is tipped in the other direction. Sometimes pulling out the old recipes I learned from Mom are joyous and bring warmth. Other times, it can be incredibly painful. And I never know which it will be until it happens.
The same can be said for these days of celebration. Holidays now–eight and a half years later–generally are in color. Not bright, vibrant color. The color you see when the lights in the room are dim. My birthday, on the other hand, is still in black and white. It’s hard to celebrate the day of your birth without the one who birthed you being part of the celebration.
In spite of all of this, though, I am thankful. I’m thankful to have had the mother I did. I’m thankful to still have the father I do. I’m thankful for the lessons I’ve learned from both–before and since Mom’s death. I’m thankful that I continue to move forward–even if it means some days I still limp along.