Last Christmas.

Not Christmas day, but the couple of weeks or so leading up to it. I allowed myself to really miss my grandmother.

Ten years ago I had a falling out with my mother – there was some violence, and I filed a restraining order against her. Not long afterward, my Nan was diagnosed with lung cancer (she’d been a 2-pack a day smoker for like 55 years, wasn’t a huge surprise). She had been living alone at the time, so she moved in with my mom because chemo and stuff.

That meant I never got to see her again, until she was literally on her deathbed. It also meant that my Nan never got to meet her first great-grandson until that day.

My son was 3 years old when Nan died. He’s nine now.

Nan and Pop loved Christmas. They went absolutely balls-out in decorating – they had a nutcracker collection to rock the ages, and an electronic spinning Christmas tree in like the 80s. Nan would have us baking cookies starting the day after Thanksgiving (after Black Friday shopping, naturally). My favourite were the krumkake – Norwegian cream horns made one at a time on her ancient iron and wrapped around a wooden cone mold. They’d have a big Christmas Eve dinner and invite the whole neighborhood. One year everyone had their own lobster and Nan spiked my bowl of eggnog because “Hey, it’s just once a year!”. After dinner we’d all pile in to the light-strung trailer of Pop’s tractor and he would drive us up and down the roads dressed as Santa and we’d all sing Christmas carols.

Last year, I just missed Nan so much. I wanted to make Krumkake and watch the rum in the soaked cake burn away with those blue flames and decide which gingerbread men to decorate as mailmen for the postal workers. I wanted to hear Nan laugh her too-much-champagne laugh and hug me just a little too tight and say “I love ya kid, a bushel and a peck, and a hug around the neck.”

I probably spent about a week crying into a bowl of sugar cookie dough. I really, really needed it.

This year I’m buying a goddamn krumkake iron if I have to get it directly from Norway.

During Easter break I had a really tough decision to make about my career and life. I had been deliberating on it for months, and time was ticking to actually decide. I thought I had made the decision, and then I had a huge panic attack thinking about going through with it. I rode it out, broke down afterwards, and then knew I had to choose the other option. When I’d decided that, I was at peace, so I knew that was the right one. Even though the panic attack was scary, afterwards I felt like I’d flushed that option out of my system which was good because I’m really happy I didn’t do it.

The Beatles’ The Long and Winding Road does this for me every time.

I lost my first real, true love in my mid-teens. She was a beautiful girl and was everything I wanted—Her family moved away.

The Long and Winding Road is quintessentially British, and in my own imagination somewhat Appalachian— makes me think of people separated due to jobs, poverty, and moving afar losing their homes or for economic opportunities—never again to meet. Some rose to higher circumstances. I’m still waiting here,

This song makes me feel how much I just want to be invited back home to her. The Long and Winding Road is still here. And I’m still waiting…

I Can Wait Forever by Air Supply has a similar effect. “I can wait forever—if you say you’ll be there too. I can wait forever—I know its worth it all, to spend my life alone… ”

^You’ve mentioned (I think) the same thing a few times, in different threads. I’m sorry that you don’t seem to have “gotten over it.” I can empathize with you here, for sure. In fact, I still have a big heart, that girls seem to enjoy hurting.

It is what it is @Yellowdog . I’m sorry that it didn’t work out the way you wanted. I’d like to think, that it worked out best for you.

She was just a few chapters, in your life’s story brother. You’re both still happily together in those chapters. If you concentrate, it probably isn’t hard, to relive your times spent with her.

The current you is doing OK though right?

Oh… @rockfan . To the question. I would characterize myself as emotional.

I will frequently gets tears in my eyes over songs I empathize with, or really bad situations.

So… Last time? Yesterday? 2 hrs from now, when I’m listening to music about to go to sleep…

Disclaimer: I’m not sure I count myself as sane. So, take that with a grain of salt…

When Nanachi had Reg incinerate Mitty. Right in the feels.

Last weekend.

My son and best friend came up to visit – it was our last get-together before my son moved 600+ miles away. His girlfriend moved there about 6 weeks ago, and once he finished with his job and closing loose ends, he has planned to join her and propose to her.

I’ve been completely OK with it all along. He and his girlfriend got their own place almost two years ago, and have been saying that they were going to move after she finished grad school. Then my husband & I moved about 75 miles away to another state in the spring, so we haven’t seen a lot of each other, anyway.

But then my best friend – whom he calls his Aunt because she has been a very close friend and great support during his lifetime – started crying, and I was caught unprepared and lost it. I was a blubbering fool because I was so overcome with pride and relief that he has grown into such a good person.

I was a single mom and in a bad relationship for much of his childhood. That, on top of the death of his father when he was 7, caused emotional and behavioral issues for my son. We had many rough times, including having Child Protection called on me, the cops called on him by the school and my mother, each of us attempted suicide, I went through bankruptcy, etc. His father was an alcoholic and addict, and I feared that my son would follow his footsteps.

Somehow, something changed within me when my son was about 14, and I started to change my mindset and perspective. Eventually, I found my integrity and was able to be a calm, safeport for him as he dealt with his teen angst. I was fortunate enough to meet a stable, kind man (now my husband) and my son lived with us when we got a place together.

My son was 19, and the job he took then is the job he just left to move – how many 26-year-olds can say they’ve held a job for 7 years and left on good terms? He still went through some trials and tribulations, but the past three years he has stabilized and re-prioritized his life. He is kind, thoughtful, and responsible.

Four years ago, I wouldn’t have predicted how good things would be for all of us right now and I am overjoyed. Bawling my eyes out last weekend wasn’t because of sadness that he’s leaving, but really was out of pride and relief that he’s doing better than “OK”. All the weight of the maternal worry of the past 26 years has been lifted. Sure – he’ll have hard times ahead – that’s life. But I know he’s got a good head on his shoulders and that he is well-equipped, mentally and emotionally, to handle life’s challenges.

He left New Jersey for good yesterday and proposed to his girlfriend last night, and she said, “Yes”. I couldn’t be happier for them!

Last Sunday while watching the Seahawks game. It had it all: downs, ups, screaming, anger.