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visionshadows
Realized this was a little depressing so look...cut away..
I used to wonder where I got my Christmas depression from but it's become obvious the past few years as I've grown more observant. It's from my father and his is a million times worse than mine and as he grows further and further away from his siblings it just gets worse. I could see as he closed off when he opened the gifts from them. They were about as impersonal as could be and I know it hurts because even after all these years he still tries to pick out stuff for them that means something. He got a jar of pistachios from his brother and a cookbook and basket of stuff that we never eat from his sister. Then he went upstairs to take a nap. Like always. I know that Christmas for him had always been a really happy time before his parents died. I vaguely remember spending Christmas at my grandfather's and just how warm and homey and special it was. We don't know how to give him that and the puny Christmas we have hurts him more sometimes. I caught him staring at the tree with his stocking on his lap this morning. No one else was up and he had a small pile of presents on the couch next to him and he was putting them in his own stocking. It made me want to cry because none of us know how to do this, how to make it easier for him. We do what we can and we buy him silly little things and make him breakfast and try to keep him company. But in the end, he hides in his room alone and pretends he's happy. I wish that I could bring his family and past Christmases back to him just once. But I know it will never happen.
I used to wonder where I got my Christmas depression from but it's become obvious the past few years as I've grown more observant. It's from my father and his is a million times worse than mine and as he grows further and further away from his siblings it just gets worse. I could see as he closed off when he opened the gifts from them. They were about as impersonal as could be and I know it hurts because even after all these years he still tries to pick out stuff for them that means something. He got a jar of pistachios from his brother and a cookbook and basket of stuff that we never eat from his sister. Then he went upstairs to take a nap. Like always. I know that Christmas for him had always been a really happy time before his parents died. I vaguely remember spending Christmas at my grandfather's and just how warm and homey and special it was. We don't know how to give him that and the puny Christmas we have hurts him more sometimes. I caught him staring at the tree with his stocking on his lap this morning. No one else was up and he had a small pile of presents on the couch next to him and he was putting them in his own stocking. It made me want to cry because none of us know how to do this, how to make it easier for him. We do what we can and we buy him silly little things and make him breakfast and try to keep him company. But in the end, he hides in his room alone and pretends he's happy. I wish that I could bring his family and past Christmases back to him just once. But I know it will never happen.