Blue Christmas

I’ve survived the Christmas holiday.

Started the morning making some homemade waffles in the waffle iron that Eddie’s mom bought us after I broke the last one stuffing it full of frozen tater-tots. Put on White Christmas and watched it while I ate and drank my coffee and then put on my makeup.

I hit my sister’s house a couple of hours before the scheduled “Christmas dinner” time to help out and socialize a bit before the majority of people got there. I brought a cake, which was fucking tasty. I got some money and gift cards, and a framed picture of my sister and I at her wedding.

As promised, there was no discussion of recent events. The only reference made was my father telling me to call him so we can “catch up on things”, which I’m pretty sure is Dad-code for “do you need a lawyer or or do I have to kill anyone?” The uncle that I stayed with during the first couple of days after the police raid reiterated his promise to take me in no matter what time of day I called him. It helped that it wasn’t the entire family there, only Dad and my stepmother, my aunt and uncle, and one of my sister’s friends with her kids.

After dinner, it was time to go home. Grabbed a cake, topped it with some baked apples, and hauled ass up to finally meet an internet friend and some of her brood. Some prime rib was consumed, and cake was feasted upon. Then, home.

Was it an ideal Christmas? No, definitely not. I’d give anything to have things back to normal, to be able to wake up and exchange gifts and have a big happy family dinner where I’m not awkwardly wishing that I was somewhere else, preferably curled up on the couch under a comforter and covered in cats.

Was it a lonely Christmas? Yes. There was a huge part of Christmas missing, like a hole that everyone just walked around without acknowledgement. However, we also shared a lot of laughter and smiles and hugs, and there were no tears until it was time to sleep.