It is clear that the Kubler-Ross model of Death and Dying is a far cry from the current beliefs on the grieving process. In spite of that, most information that I have come across marks the arrival of acceptance as a key milestone. But, what happens after acceptance is not clear.

It makes sense that no two people will grieve exactly the same. Regardless of my agreement with this fact, I wish there was a road map that I could check my progress against. I think that it might be helpful.

While my children sometimes question if it is really good to talk about their father’s death, I know that it helps me to write and talk about it. Sometimes I write down my thoughts on various note pads, and other times I share my thoughts with the blogosphere at large. Whether or not I share them, it is therapeutic to get it out.

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The morning was somewhat dedicated to my birthday celebration – well, an hour was anyways. In spite of my taking my expectations down a notch from prior years, in addition to some well meaning emails, calls, and gifts, the day has fallen short of what I would call a “celebration.”

I don’t know what I was expecting and I wonder if I had any chance of today being “happy” in the first place. It seems that no matter what anyone does, the voice in my head destroys all enjoyment with a critical judgment.

My special breakfast was an infusion of cholesterol and grease. It was the breakfast that Tom would have wanted, but not what I wanted.

My birthday gifts were wonderful gestures. I received a digital frame and an radio/iPod speaker and alarm clock. The voice in my head has passed criticism on these too. Not only does it not match my room, but I have an alarm clock, and also a speaker system for my iPod. As for the frame, it has to be plugged in.

Honestly, these gifts are great and I should be happy. BoBo was so sure that I’d be thrilled with it. I am disappointed that I am not. I don’t know why I can’t just enjoy them for what they are – gifts. I wonder if I can appreciate anything.

The kids were too noisy and so I let BoBo go out when he asked. Of course he was in no hurry to return. Now I feel unimportant as he keeps coming up with excuses for why I can’t pick him up. His new skateboard is in somebody else’s car but they aren’t where the car is right now. I’m lucky that I can even reach him by phone and he thinks I’m “gay” for “freaking out” all of the time.

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It’s two days until Christmas and just past another change in seasons. These changes (solstice and equinox) are another mark of time passed since Tom’s death. I have a new rush of melancholy. I often think of my own death and easy that would be.

It’s hard for me not the think that Tom chickened out; he took the easy way. I guess I am angry too. I watch my kids and hear BoBo talk of what’s wrong. It’s more of the same. No matter how hard I try, I just can’t fix it. It feels like all my fault. I try to make it right with more time together, a tutor, and the new dog. It’s no use.

When I run, it’s worse. I am alone with my thoughts and they aren’t fun. I have my own hurt and I would rather not feel it. When will it end?

Unfortunately, I know the answer is never.

The number of Christmas cards arriving in my mailbox this year is small. I guess people just don’t know what to say. Who can blame them? I didn’t know what to say myself, and I just don’t like sending out the card without a little personal, handwritten note. So my batches have been few and far between. Batch two went out in yesterday’s mail and I still have to hit my side of the family.

Then there is the shopping. Somehow, I lost momentum on that. I forgot some of the key items that seemed so obvious before and have since slipped my mind. I fear that on Christmas morning it will look like Santa forgot to visit.

I’ve tried to limit my shopping to pretty much the immediate family. It’s hard to do that when gifts start arriving on you desk at work each morning. I take a deep breath and remind myself that I can’t take on the added pressure of finding a small gift for my co-workers in my department. I just don’t have the energy.

Yet I had every intention of bringing a little gift for my friends in bereavement “group.” My plan was to give the girls pretty journals that they could use to write in. I thought that perhaps they could use writing as a healing, as I do. I’d visited the journal section at Borders Books, but none of the options appealed to me. So, in my pickiness, I left without buying anything at all and arrived at group empty handed. To my surprise, I was the only one empty handed. They had all found the time to find the perfect gift for me. What was my problem?

How is it possible to walk in and out of so many stores and still not buy a thing? I just don’t feel the holiday spirit. There is no joy of giving this year as I can’t seem to find any gifts that give the message I want to give. I want my gifts to say, “I see you for who your are” and because of that “I found the perfect gift.” Instead, I sneer at the package carrying people with anger.

I, like the Grinch who stole Christmas, often view the world as if they were the Whos down in Whoville (an endlessly cheerful bunch bursting with holiday spirit), and have become so sickened by their joy in the season that I barely fall short of hijacking the holiday from those that I care for most. I know this isn’t me. I try to avoid all Grinch-like actions; however I fear that I have been predisposed to the manifestation of these tendencies. I desperately want to be more like Cindy Loo Who than the Grinch. Then I remember that even little Cindy was searching for the “true meaning of Christmas.”

Dr. Seuss once explained, “… the Grinch in my story is the Hero of Christmas? Sure… he starts out as a villain, but it’s not how you start out that counts. It’s what you are at the finish.” I’ve got four days to make the transformation from villain to hero – four days to find that true meaning of Christmas.