Where Are You Christmas?

I just didn’t want to take photos. Every part of me was telling me no. My body, my heart, my grief. I tried to convince myself, said it was something I should do, something normal, something I used to love. And that’s where the guilt creeps in. I feel guilty for forcing myself into something that once brought me so much joy before I lost my brother, because now that joy feels distant, almost unfamiliar. I don’t recognize it anymore.

So how do I deal with that loss of feeling? It feels like another joy lost to grief. I’ve spent years searching for that Christmas spirit everyone talks about ever since my grandfather died, hoping it would return if I just tried hard enough. But honestly, I haven’t felt it in a very long time, and this year was no different. Grief didn’t soften with the season. It stayed heavy and painful. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, I wasn’t celebrating… I was surviving, taking things one day at a time, just as I’ve been doing for the past two months.

What I’ve learned is that the ache doesn’t peak during the holidays… it lingers after. When the lights come down, and life grows quiet again, that’s when the absence feels loudest to me. That’s when I miss him the most. And still, somewhere deep down, I think I’m searching for a sign, a feeling, a small miracle. Maybe I’m hoping that one day I’ll catch a glimpse of that lost sparkle again, hidden somewhere in the glow of the Christmas tree lights. Perhaps that’s where I’ll see Austin again.