Happy Holidays??

Holidays are supposed to be a joyful time. I mean, it's right there in what we say:
"Happy Easter!"
"Happy Mother's Day!"
"Happy New Year!"
The only one that's really different is "Merry Christmas!" but come on...it's the same thing.

So if holidays are supposed to be so joyful and are supposed to fill me with the spirit and all that crap, why do I feel like such s##t each time one rolls around? Holidays aren't fun for me right now...so don't ask me how my Easter was!

Instead of focusing on what we're celebrating and why we're celebrating it, I instead focus on one thing alone...Is this the last _____ (insert holiday name here) that I get to spend with my father? In my heart, it feels like when it comes to this year, the answer is yes.

Thanksgiving of 2011 was quite possibly the worst I've had thus far. I think what it really boils down to is that Thanksgiving is a cursed holiday for me...end of story. The year before, I was up in a dark, cold room at my in-laws' house with a colicky baby who wouldn't stop screaming. This year, I was on the phone most of the time fielding calls from my sister who was on 'Dad Duty'...and when I was not on the phone, I was worried about what was going on with my father instead of what was going on where I was at physically. That night, I was answering questions about death from my 7 year old and listening to my 1 year old scream bloody murder from an infection he had suddenly contracted. It just sucked. No other way to describe it.

What really pissed me off was reading about all the wonderful things my friends were doing on Facebook and how much they enjoyed their Thanksgiving.

Pictures, "Happy Thanksgivings!"...it was all so happy and la dee dee da that it infuriated me! And the month leading up to the holiday? If I had to read one more post about "Today, I am thankful for _______" I was gonna throw up. Everyone else's happiness made my sadness that much more intense. And my sadness was quickly turning into hatred.
While everyone else was sitting around a table saying why they were thankful and all that crap, I was sitting at the table looking at my father and wondering if he would be in his usual seat next year or if instead I would be crying at the hole that will be left by his absence. How are you thankful for that? It's bulls##t!

As I read all the happy Facebook status updates, I made one of my own. It read something to the extent of "What a s##ty Thanksgiving." Boy, did that cause an uproar! People who I had spent the holiday with were upset because they felt as if I was implying that I didn't like being with them. They couldn't see what my reality now was. I actually had to explain why my Thanksgiving sucked...and it went a little something like this:

"My Thanksgiving was nothing like your Thanksgiving. While your Thanksgiving included talk of Black Friday deals and the latest gossip, mine included talk about my father's living will and his impending death. While you were surrounded by healthy family and friends, I was struggling with my father's battle with ALS. While you guys talked about who's making what next year, I was asking God if this was the last year I would spend Thanksgiving with my father. While you engaged in funny conversations, I was on the phone with my sister wondering if we had to go back to the hospital yet again. While you guys laughed away, you had no idea that just around the corner, I was in the bathroom crying. While you guys were still sitting around drinking after we left, I was talking about my father's death with my seven year old son. And when you laid down to go to bed that night and drifted off in a turkey induced coma-like sleep, I was up all night with a sick, screaming baby.
So while we might physically have been in the same room and what you were experiencing was joyful, my experience was not. I may have been there physically, but I certainly wasn't there with you mentally because of one simple fact...MY DAD IS DYING!  Excuse me if I don't feel thankful for that.
So I stand behind my status post...Thanksgiving was s##ty!"

Each holiday thereafter was the same...looking at my father at the head of the table wondering if this is it...is this the last time I get to say "Merry Christmas" to my dad? Is this the last time I serve him a piece of ham on Easter? Is this the last time he'll see my children searching for Easter eggs? How do you bottle up the time and memories spent with him now so that you can cherish it in the future? When your heart is breaking, how do you be Happy or Merry? How do you not hate everyone else who is so joyful and lucky?

Some might say, "Lisa, you should be thankful for this time you have with him now." Believe me...I've heard it 1000 times. My response? "God forbid your parent contracts such a disease and the tables are turned and I make such a comment to you...do you think you'd be able to do that? Can you turn off heartbreak? Can you turn off the fear of losing someone as important as your father? If you can, please teach me how. I'd be happy to be thankful then...but for right now, piss off!"

See, it's easy to say things to someone in my shoes...especially if you've never lived such an experience. If you've never watched someone you love so deeply deteriorate right in front of you from a disease such as ALS, it's easy to judge me and my inability to find happiness in certain situations. The reality is that there is nothing to be thankful for or happy about when it comes to ALS.

If he were to suddenly pass away in his sleep, then I'd be thankful. Thankful that he wouldn't have to suffer what's coming. Thankful that it was quick and painless instead of long and drawn out. Thankful that his loss of dignity had finally come to an end. Thankful he could leave this Earth with what little independence he still had left. Thankful that where he's going, there is no ALS. Thankful that when he goes meets his maker, his brother will be standing there waiting for him holding a pair of running shoes so he can run to the gates of Heaven instead of steering his wheelchair.

Yes...then I'd be thankful. Then it would be a happy holiday.

How f##ked up is that?

Until then...until this is over...while I'll be smiling on the outside for the sake of my children, I'll be crying on the inside for my father. So stop asking me how my holiday went. The answer will always be the same..."It was ok"...but what I really mean to say is, "It sucked. My dad is dying. Why do you keep asking me such a stupid question?"

Happy holidays...yeah right. Not so much.

Maybe one day...