I'm not much of a Christmas present buyer or giver. I mean, I like to give gifts to my people throughout the year but the pressure of providing a gift simply because the calendar says it's time for the presents is just not my thing. Couple that with the fact that I have four children to provide gifts for and the reality that my financial situation is less than spectacular, well, I'm sure people understand my point.
Personally, I prefer a gift that is either homemade or one that is given with much thought to the personality and interests of the recipient. And that is why I've decided to write a letter to my kids as a special gift this year. I do best with words.
Yeah, so you all know how I feel about Christmas. You've seen me through the "all homemade year" and the "year of no tree" and even the "let's travel across the country on Christmas year". Somehow we always seem to make it work and we keep at least a few familiar traditions in place. We're good about that.
So this year has been a good year for all of you. I'm so proud of each one of you and I know that your Dad would be so impressed with how well you guys are doing. There have been lots of changes that you've had to deal with and you've done it with grace and maturity well beyond your years. I suppose this ability to persevere and conquer will help you as you continue through life. That's good.
I hope you know how much I love you guys and how hard I try to keep things going. Not a day goes by that I don't feel tremendous guilt over what I can't do for you. I worry about everything. I feel horrible that you lost your amazing Dad but you also were left with your imperfect, impatient Mom as your only parent. Your earthy, hippy, barefoot Mom who made everything from scratch (including your clothes!) and who home schooled you because your Dad and I wanted us all to be together as much as possible has been replaced with this Mom who I barely recognize and I feel so guilty. Oh, I know there are things that you're probably glad to see go away (like elderberry syrup and skip counting songs) and, truth be told, there's a few things I'm glad to put away as well. But I miss being together--all of us--and I worry. Your Pop was a smart guy and he could teach you so many things that I cannot. He was infinitely patient, which we all know that I am not. He was laid back and slow-paced which we also know I am not.
When you have a baby it's amazing how much love you feel for something so small and unable to give anything in return. And then when you have another child you're amazed that your love can be multiplied so easily. That's kind of how I felt when Dad died, like the love I could give to each one of you now had to be multiplied--you needed my heart and your Dad's too. I try really hard to keep your lives full of experiences and opportunities. I may not have much money but what I have I try to use for every one's betterment. I suppose that's why I buy Lucky Charms on occasion now. Those marshmallows are so darn fun! I try to be sure that the things that were important to Dad are somehow instilled in you too. Except his taste in music--we can forget about that. Blah.
I've tried to shield a lot of ugly realities of life from you. I don't know how well I've succeeded. I wish you did not have to deal with the cruelty of people who you should be able to trust. I wish you didn't have to be afraid of your future and the uncertainty that looms around the corner. I wish you didn't have to hear untrue, unkind words spoken. I so wish that you did not have to feel abandoned and untethered. I try so very hard to give you security and consistency and stability. Those things keep me getting up in the morning. The lesson in all of this is, I suppose, a lesson in how not to live and how not to treat people.
Again, I want you to know how proud I am of each one of you. School, sports, jobs, adult responsibilities. You guys are amazing. You've dealt with injuries and unfair treatment and worries with such character. I see your Dad in each one of you. Your love of X-Files and Star Wars and coffee and dark beer and hunting and fishing and taking care of the animals and cutting wood and reading and music and baseball. My list goes on and on. He is in each of you. Never forget that. Even though he is not here he is still with you.
We are in this together and we are kicking ass. Do not let anyone tell you otherwise. Don't be a half-asser, do your best, always tell the truth, and know your boundaries. Start the fire if you're the first person up, clean up your messes, always take the time to hold babies. Wear good socks, make your bed, and read a book occasionally.
Love you guys.
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