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quiet and not quiet

 The day after boxing day is usually my favourite.  Nothing planned, the house mostly tidied, and some of the leftovers finished up.   Today I'm taking the 3 1/2 month old pup out for a "littles training" with some of her siblings.  Should be a nice time.

Wow.  Christmas.

This year we played "thiftmas" for our white elephant game, and the selections were interesting.  Bob won a pair of vintage trays - done in 70s colours and quite lovely.  We've used them in the kitchen for the coffee bar and they look amazing.  I won a cold brew caraffe, a cheese grater, and chocolates.  The gifts included puzzles, macrame, cups, bowls, teapots, a yeti, mugs and hats, and a popcorn maker with a side of porn.  It was fun - gifts had to be thrifted, regifted, or 'stolen'.  I don't think that everyone who came loved it - and I heard someone say "I'm getting the shitty end of this stick" which disappointed me and made me realize not everyone considers anyone else but themselves in things.  

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It has been almost five months since I returned from mental health leave.  Five months of not doing the job I absolutely loved.  Five months of part time.  Five months of learning to be me again when I no longer feel like me and wish I could change all of this and wondering why I am walking this road.  Five months of making $35,000 less in my gross, but only $100 less on my two week paycheck.  Seven months since I have seen the fjords of Gros Morne.

I know Gros Morne means "big mountains standing alone" but I think of it as "the big grief" and remember those mountains standing with me as I mourned, and as I acknowledged my grief and depression.  I remember the mountains and the fog and the silence - and how a squawking bird might break through with its song.  It felt like the park understood me.  I felt seen by it.  There was something so infinitely beautiful about a melancholic space that it gave me permission to embrace my grief and depression and to stop fighting it.  

I miss my old job.  I miss my kids being little.  I miss my husband being more vital.  I miss his silliness and fun, and his easy way of grabbing my hand while we walked.  I miss that so intensely that sometimes I catch my breath and I feel like he might be gone..  but it's only a part that's gone.  My grief comes in chunks - and I'm both thankful for, and resentful of, that fact.  

Before going out with friends, I'm blogging and sitting by my SAD light, sipping coffee and remembering everything I've seen and lost this year.


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