I wore my tartan plaid jammy pants to bed last night and had waffles for breakfast this morning. There is a blanket of freshly fallen Christmas now on the ground, and all is well. I am okay. Better than last year when I pushed my way through for the sake of others, but wasn't being honest with myself or my family. I am okay.
Last night was spent with three other single women. We ate dinner, watched a video, shared some cookies and hot chocolate, and visited. I came home early enough to stay with my sleeping grandson so his mom and dad could venture out and then fell asleep downstairs, so I could hear the child if he awoke, and stumbled upstairs when Hannah and Sergio returned. It was a nice, calm evening.
Soon I will pack up my presents and pumpkin pie ingredients, brush the fresh snow off my car, and venture out to "Dad's House." We will have Christmas and be a family, because no matter where this journey takes us, we are family forever. Bruised and broken perhaps, but family.
I am looking forward to lasagna and laughter, but mostly to seeing my grandchildren. I miss them.
Barns of Conewango, New York.
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