It's the Most Treacherous Time of the Year

In pre-pandemic times (remember them?), hubs and I used to host booze-laden get-togethers a few times each year with a specific, kindred group of whiskey and scotch-loving friends. The pandemic has, of course, rendered these occasions near-obsolete, with many of us still not entirely comfortable to be in-person, indoors and in the assumed presence of the current variant, Omicron.

However, we have enjoyed a few online versions of these events since 2020, with the most recent one held about a week before Christmas. Unfortunately, but perhaps not surprisingly, not everyone is doing well. As one friend put it: it's the most treacherous and joyful time of the year. I'm inclined to agree... except with the joyful part.

© Introvert Doodles

Christmas used to be my jam. I would start shopping early, thinking up the best presents for hubs and scheming about what to get friends who live elsewhere. Hubs and I would either be making preparations for travelling overseas to visit family, or deciding what special meals to make if staying put. Wrapping gifts, decorating, arranging dinners to catch up with those I haven't seen in awhile - I loved all of it. 

As I get older, it's become apparent to me that Christmas is... complicated. Over time, we lose people we care about, and recognize that others may not be with us for much longer; the holidays are never the same after that. And of course now, living through a pandemic we take whatever scraps we can in terms of getting together safely but with restrictions, or attempting travel despite a million different requirements for testing, testing and more testing in order to be allowed into other countries and also re-enter our own. Our choices are limited to either settling for visits over Zoom, or being with others at the risk of making them or us sick. 

Hubs and I experienced an added bonus this year: our elderly bunny rabbit Maple lost her mobility and has been completely unable to walk since December 13. She had been having some issues over the past few months or so, but we saw nothing that indicated just how hard a time she was having. Suddenly, she could no longer get up on her own anymore, and that's when we realized she's at that age where things get worse, not better, and that we'd have to start thinking about letting her go - almost exactly two years to the day we put down her sister Amber.

Morning nap. Photo cred: M. Boulton

Understanding that this would be our last Christmas together, hubs and I did our best to have a special day, with all of us gathered on the living room floor to open presents and have breakfast together, ensuring Maple received special treatment - eating extra treats and ripping up tissue and wrapping paper. Through the window, snow was softly falling and Christmas carols were playing in the background.

In all honesty though, we were going through the motions, but felt nothing. 

(Additional, but relatively minor, gift to us from the universe: we had no hot water in our apartment all day, Christmas Day.)

I woke up on Boxing Day relieved - actually, wholeheartedly, 100% relieved! - that Christmas was over. I didn't realize how much of a burden it had been on me this year, trying to make the best of things, accepting that not everything was okay but trying to celebrate like we would anyway, until it was over and I felt like 1,000 pounds had been lifted off my shoulders. It didn't mean, for example, that we were exempt from deciding whether to euthanize Maple bun, but dealing with something so sad suddenly felt... manageable, somehow.

In the direct lead-up to Christmas and over the past week or so, a number of friends have also shared stories about their less-than-great-holidays: family members in the hospital, plumbing issues, extremely unpleasant reactions to booster shots (still - go get boostered when you are eligible!), cancelled travel plans. And at least four families I know tested postive for COVID-19 - but no serious cases so far, thankfully. 

Seems like there was, unfortunately, more treachery than joy experienced by so many this holiday season. Ahh, Christmas.

I know better than to make trite statements like, "Next year will be better," because that's what I did last year and then promptly: 1) fell into a depressive episode (work was partially to blame for that), and then 2) completely burned out at the end of January (where work was totally to blame). And of course, the United States Capitol was attacked and only six days into 2021, it felt like all hell was breaking loose and a do-over was needed already. 

Instead, a more reasonable and careful approach might be to live day by day until things start to shift from shit, to slightly less shit - to hopefully better. 

So for today, which was our first tentative date to euthanize sweet Maple, I will be grateful that we are not doing that just yet. And yes, the day will come soon; we already have a plan to say goodbye in two weeks' time. But the sun is shining. We have hot water. Hubs and I built a mini-snowman this morning using the limited amount of snow on our balcony. 

It feels like the treachery of the holiday season is passing. My fingers are crossed as I expect the worst, but really hope for the best.

Stumpy. Photo cred: M. Boulton