In the lingerie department at Nordstrom a sales clerk brought me a couple of bras to try on. They were not the pretty bras that I wore in my 20s; they were the functional type. She left me in peace to try them on and make a decision on whether or not to purchase them. I looked in the mirror at my image and wondered how it all happened.

I already had the answer. It was aging. “After you reach 40…” my doctor had said, “the hormones change and your body responds…” Screw change – I’ve already had more than my share of it.

I always thought that your breasts got smaller as you aged. They aren’t needed anymore for feeding babies. Mine aren’t needed for *anything* anymore. I guess Mother Nature has a sick sense of humor. Rather than just letting them shrink away, she changes the breast glands to fat. Fluffy fat cells are taking over all of my body.

I lingered in the department, looking at the pajamas on the sales racks. The more I looked, the more depressed I got. I’ve been wearing my grandma’s flannel nightgown to bed for years now. It’s not real flattering, but they are comfortable and warm. The problem with Nordstrom’s pajamas section is that the pjs are either too sexy or too much like grandma’s old lady pjs.

While I want to shed the dumpy look, I can’t be wearing sexy pjs while in a house of raging boy hormones. I just wanted something soft and pretty. I finally selected a pink shirt that would go with the pajama pants that I have at home. It will do for now. By the time I checked out at the register tears were filling my eyes.

I took my bag of ugly bras and the pink shirt from the sales clerk, then I walked *briskly* out of the store, through the mall, and towards the parking lot. All around me were Christmas decorations and happy shoppers, strolling along as slowly as they possibly could. These people were what was between me and the safety of my van. I wanted to plow right through them and yell at them. MOVE IT. I wanted to call someone who would just listen.

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Other than the dreaded Christmas cards, I haven’t given the holidays much thought. It seems impossible given all of the commercials on the radio and the decorations in the stores. Seriously, I have just refused to acknowledge the impending holidays.

Well, I *have* unconsciously been doing a few holiday things. For example, I bought a star for the top of the tree last week. We’ve been trying to find the right tree topper for the past few years. I saw this one and though that Tom would have liked it. I don’t exactly know why that matters anymore, but I bought it. I also bought Tom’s yearly ornament. I don’t have anyone else in the family’s, but I have his.

I know that the holidays are on their way. I am sort of unconscious in my participation and planning.

A couple of weeks ago, the flyer for the neighborhood tree thing landed in my mailbox. We participated last year for the first time. The whole neighborhood buys a little tree for the front yard and lights it up. I looks really cheery to drive up and down the streets filled with rows of lit holiday trees. I ignored the notice; I just set it aside and forgot about it. Then the signs when up saying “Tree $ due.” I ignored that too. Finally, a second notice.

After receiving the second notice, I thought about my apathy. Should I just write out the check for the tree? I still can’t say why I was refusing to play this year. Perhaps, if my tree resembled the feeble Charlie Brown tree, it would have felt more appropriate. I guess I just wasn’t ready to let the holidays into my reality. It’s just easier that way. Right?

Well, the bereavement group facilitators thought otherwise. They thought that we, the bereaved, should actively think about these things ahead of time and do some preparation. They even hosted a workshop on it.

As I said, I really had not given the coming holidays much though. I realize that I am planning to go south for the winter (like a bird, only driving). We’re going to spend Thanksgiving in Seal Beach with Tom’s family. I guess I am just thinking of the trip as a family gathering (rather than the holiday that it is). I am pretty sure that I’ll be okay. I actually had a trial run last weekend with a very relaxed Thanksgiving type gathering at Lil’ Sis’ house. BoBo took Tom’s spot beside me at the table, so it was okay.

I actually think that I must have been slightly intoxicated after only a few sips of wine. I am sure that I heard myself inviting my family over for Christmas dinner – AT MY HOUSE – ON CHRISTMAS DAY!

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I’ve already told the story of how Tom and I married in a hot air balloon. It was a great way to kick off our journey together.

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While getting totally emerged in my Harry Potter book, I heard a singsong query coming from my kitchen.
“Ho-ney? Will you open the bottle of wine?”

DD returned from the garage with the bocce ball set. Readied for an exciting game with his little brothers, he stopped in the kitchen to tend to his lovely gal’s request. At the same time, I stopped my reading just to listen to their sweet conversation and remember the early days of Tom and I…

Those were the days. Tom and I spent so much time together. We hung out in coffee shops, and in parks, and slowly peeled away the layers of camouflage hiding our true selves to each other. Even after exposing my weaknesses, Tom accepted me.

We seemed to compliment each other. While I was naively positive (unseeing of the tragedies happening all around us), Tom was dismally negative (unable to see the rainbow on a rainy day). I felt whole when I was with him, which was new for me. I loved it; I loved him.

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