I used to love the Christmas season. When I lived with my family we always made a big deal out of the Advent calendar my grandma had made and decorating the tree and everything.
Last year I spent Christmas in the hospital-jail. No visitors, no gifts. No tree. A gift of candy and edibles from the commissary that everyone got from the hospital staff.
This year, I am alone. My parents arrive Christmas night by train so the holiday weekend won’t be a total bust, but I still feel like the holidays have become anti-climactic for me.
I won’t get to see my Beanlet. Her father has stripped me of any visitation until I meet certain conditions which are more or less impossible given the current state of things.
Somehow Christmas seemed magical when I was young. Then, when Beanlet was small and I was still married to her dad, I enjoyed making Christmas magical. All of that enthusiasm seems missing this year.