from Christmas, 2006:

There comes a time where you realize you must wake up. The snooze alarm keeps blasting at intervals and it’s just time to get up. What I thought was real was not, and so I faced the fact that I was pretending, living in a space created in my imagination.

It was a little startling to discover this, but it’s also freeing to know the truth. It has allowed me to embrace what’s good, because most of it actually is, and to feel clear about what didn’t make sense before. It also gives some sense of truth to realize that the person at the center of my life is me. Girls, realize: All the kids and family you wait on, all the people clamoring for this and that—it’s YOUR life. You own it.

A couple years ago a dear friend died, and she took with her a lot… my sense of security in the world, the history we shared, the complete safety and peace she brought to my life, the laughter (and hard times too) we shared, the meals she cooked—chicken and dumplings, minestrone, bbq chicken and potato salad….her delicious Betty Rubble snicker, our shared lust for John Travolta, her unpretentious and completely beautiful self.

She ate many meals at my house too, but I don’t remember those. It’s her cooking I miss. We loved each other’s children, and behind their backs laughed at how comical they were. I know she took me as much for granted as I did her, and at first when she died I wished we hadn’t taken each other for granted. Now I’m glad that we were so comfortable together that we did.

As I went through the emotions of grieving, I realized that none of my other friends were going to fill the gaping hole that this one had left. I miss her so much! And later it occurred to me that I had the power within me to be the friend to myself that she had been to me. I didn’t need someone outside of myself to do it. On a July afternoon a few days before Julia was born, I stood by myself at her grave in the beating sun and looked down at a pile of dirt. It was miserably hot and ants crawled over the dirt and that bothered me.

There weren’t even tears, it felt so overly bright and desolate. And then I realized I could hear the chirpy voices of kids playing on the water slide at the community pool beyond the hedge, the very one she had take our girls swimming at. In the air was her voice, “Let’s get out of here.” I don’t feel her around me much, and her sister has said the same. We’re both glad of that. She’s gone on to better things. But that day, she was right there at my shoulder.

One of my friends is always preoccupied, only ever available on her own terms. I don’t resent that anymore, and don’t feel inadequate or insecure when she blows me off. It’s her, doing her thing. I appreciate what she brings to my life and don’t blame her for not being what she isn’t.

Others are very busy with their own lives, and I’m not sad about it any more. I have a life too, and though connections with other women have always been a lifeline to me, I really can be a lifeline to myself, and more and more I am figuring this out.

I also have a husband who can be moody and exuberant, a roller coaster of moods, which is partly why my friends were such an anchor for me, and I relied on them way too much to steady my course. I used to ride this with him, feeling like there was some validity to it, like he knew something I did not.

He doesn’t, and I adore him, but since my friend died, I’m off the ride. He’s free to have his moods, but I’m not getting tugged along. He thoughtfully buys me Fostoria cake plates, pretty jewelry, and chocolate. He’s generous, huggable, devoted to our kids, has a rowdy sense of humor, and treats me with great sweetness most of the time, and I know he loves me the best he can, the best any mortal really could.

Moody as he may be, his integrity frames his life. He’s reliable and decent, and he makes me happy. I am long past wishing he were someone else, some perfect romance-novel hero of my imagination. Whatever: Time to grow up, Val. You’re into middle age now. Who he is, is nothing short of great, even if we drive each other crazy some days.

Tonight was our family Christmas party. Years ago, we moved our party to the 23rd to avoid conflict with other family parties, and it was just convenience that motivated it. How I did not realize what genius this would later become! And what is special about the 23rd anyway? Nothing. We can do this on the 22nd or the 26th or 27th just as well. It’s a state of mind, an appreciation of the spirit of Christmas, a being togetherness that drives it, and that’s all we need.

Tonight though, today, the whole day, all week, I’ve been melancholy, which isn’t really like me. I’m not sure why. I was angry (not toward her, but inside) with a very elderly aunt who is always demanding. She always has been, and I always give her a pass, so why I’d fume about it now makes no sense, but I did! I was a tad bit irate! And why so blue all week? I have no idea.

After our family Christmas party, as I waited for Julia to fall asleep, I sat here and viewed a New York Times photo montage of joyful people –the montage was called this, and I watched the photos flip by and they could just as well have been photos from MY house, tonight. My beauteous grandbaby in his pajamas—the puppy pajamas I gave him as a gift and my daughter in law was thoughtful enough to put on him, literally brought tears to my eyes as I hugged him tonight, squeezing that precious rascally baby against my chest, kissing his cheeks. (He lets me. He’s generous like that.)

And the photos flipped by of laughing people and I pictured Dan, age 26, sending matchbox cars sailing down a plastic runway and Tim, age four, at the end in a fuzzy Dora the Explorer chair with his mouth open to catch them. (Impossible.) And Dan’s doubled-over laughter as the cars sailed over Tim’s head and into the college-girl sisters beyond, busy playing Mexican Train.

There were meatballs and shrimp, cheesy potatoes and salad… cookies with sprinkles and the most divine handmade gingerbread. The grand-dogs ran wild, jumping off our normally sedate sofas, tearing up wrapping paper and stealing treats… tomorrow is church and the more somber remembrance of the religious meaning of Jesus’ birth. But today is our day and it’s goofy and fun.

Eventually Julia dozed off, full of my milk, dolly in her arms, and I went to Tim’s room and found his dad… everybody’s dad, my own crazy husband, asleep on the pillows next to him and I kissed his ear and thanked him for the beautiful necklace, waking him up as I nibbled. I don’t know why I’m in a funk this Christmas, but it’s certainly not lack of joy or blessing in this house. Maybe it’s just more change, all the time change? or the headlines? or just life? Love and good wishes to all of you in the year 2007.