Surviving Christmas

I’m so tired. but I can’t sleep
Standin’ on the edge of something much too deep;
It’s funny how we feel so much, but cannot say a word;
We are screaming inside, but we can’t be heard
- Sarah McLachlan

Dear Rachel,

Well, here it is February, already. I can’t believe it’s been so long since I’ve written. Odd, especially since things have been weighing even more heavily on me these days than before. That makes sense, I suppose, considering that your birthday is coming up, followed closely by the trial and then the anniversary of your death. Come to think of it, maybe that’s why I haven’t been able to bring myself to write.

We got through the holidays fairly well, really; much better than last year. The only disaster came when, on the morning of Christmas Eve, I went to set the table for breakfast. Without thinking about it, I grabbed cutlery for four and headed for the dining room.

But there are only three of us sharing Christmas now.

Amy was upstairs, I think, so she didn’t notice. Lesley did notice, but pretended not to. I quietly put the extra place setting back in the drawer and went out to have a cigarette and wipe my eyes.

Things happen like that. You can be plodding along, thinking you're doing pretty well, when suddenly a huge hobnailed boot comes out of nowhere and stomps on your heart.

Love,

Dad