Yes, it’s the week before Christmas and a lot is going on, for most people, that is. Being a single hermit-like creature of habit, this is the time of year when lack of my own family hits harder. Everyone, it seems, has plans for get-togethers with spouses, kids and in-laws, nieces, nephews, grandkids, friends etc. I do, thankfully, have my brother and his ladyfriend to be with, but frankly, without them, I’d be completely by myself onChristmas day, possibly sitting in my dining room eating a Stoeffer’s Turkey and Dressing frozen dinner with some cranberry sauce out of a can. Therefore, I’m quite thankful that I have a nice, cozy place to live, and will go to my brother’s place Christmas day, where the three of us will have a delicious dinner and open presents. Their Boston terrier whom I love, will be there to entertain and delight us with her antics.

Funny thing is, I had a strong feeling and fear from an early age (my teens) that this is exactly what it would be like when I got old. I’d be a loner like I’ve always been, except even more so. And, predictably also, I live too much in the past because, frankly, solitary old age can be pretty bleak, especially at Christmas. The past is where everything was, where life was lived with few thoughts of saggy and wrinkled skin, creeping old age, and mortality. The past was full of excitement, anticipation and an endless future. The present can have some or all of that, but for me, more likely, it means a lot of time time to reflect, with deep apprehension, the state of the country and the world, unimaginable prospects for the future with climate change, and the great imponderables and mysteries of life. This can be a call to action to combat the problems, or conversely it can all seem hopelessly depressing, depending on how much we think we need to know. Rose-tinted glasses don’t help.

Then there are the health issues and concerns. I read about someone who needed an ablation for a heart condition known as a-fib (atrial fibrillation). It’s a pretty major procedure, but sometimes it’s necessary. My mother had a-fib late in life when I was caring for her, and a bad attack of it once when she lost consciousness, scared the daylights out of me. Fortunately, she got stabilized with meds and the care of probably the best cardiologist in the area.

It’s only been during the four years since Mom passed that the holidays have become depressing for me. Not totally, but significantly.

In late November and into the first week of December every year, I get a little rush of holiday spirit and buy decorations such as snow globes that have Christmas carols, and pop-up Christmas cards just for myself. I make a Christmas village with Lemax houses and stores. I collect those truly beautiful and prized snowpeople figurines that Hallmark sells.

This year I bought a tiny tree at Walgreens and decorated it with equally tiny ornaments, about an inch in height. Where did I find them? On Amazon, of course. They came in a tiny box stuffed with little colorful Santa Clauses, candy canes, and miniature Christmas trees. They are very nice and cheery.

I’m looking at the tree now on a cold December night three days before Christmas, faintly smiling, reminiscing. Maybe I’ll go push a button and listen to “White Christmas” sung by the reindeer stuffed animal I bought on impulse a couple of weeks ago at Big Lots.

I’m looking at all the Christmas decorations as I write, wondering why on earth I went overboard this year. I guess the answer is partly that when you feel lonely and depressed, you buy things, at least I do.

For many years when I lived with my mother and took care of her as she declined slowly with dementia, I was, for part of that time, working full-time. I was also absorbed in keeping track of long-term care insurance which paid for six part-time home-aides, prepared many of Mom’s meals, took her vitals every morning, monitored her diabetes and gave her insulin shots, got her cleaned up and dressed and ready for each day, managed all her meds, and still found a little time, usually on weekends, to visit the nearby state park and gardens I love for an hour or so to take pictures. Those getaways were absolutely vital and restorative, precious times when I could clear my head for a short time. I was so busy that every day was super-charged into those proverbial “36-hour days” that dementia and Alzheimer’s caregivers experience.

Also, I was, from the years 2012-2020, surrounded by people all the time, mainly the caregiver/home-aides. My life was extremely busy and often highly stressful as Mom’s dementia got worse, but I’ve forgotten, or rather, rarely if ever recall the terrible nights when I felt I couldn’t take it anymore. I look back on those years asa deeply fulfilling time, more so than I had ever known. I never felt more alive.

Now, all of that is gone. And nothing can take its place. If I let myself, I start to feel a little dead inside.

The family house downtown is sold and replaced by memories. It’s completely quiet and peaceful where I live, and I am truly grateful to have this place where I can surround myself with my books and boxes of memorabilia. Sometimes I think a good chunk of my life story can be told or recalled from all those “things.” If this apartment I live in now was empty except for basic furnishings, and neat as a pin, I think I’d go stark, raving mad. A bit unfortunately, I live in the very opposite conditions. Such is my life. Clutter comforts me.

It’s a different world now, and as the years pass and I get older, it’s a more scary world of health concerns, exacerbated by isolation and admittedly, too much solitude. Don’t get me wrong — I love being by myself and do everything alone, and always have. But at Christmas, more than any time of the year, it just doesn’t feel so good.

But this will mostly pass, more or less, as the new year makes its appearance, and I give myself a reprieve from dreary and depressing thoughts. I’ll be out on cold, sunny and sparkling winter days at those same favorite parks and gardens, talking walks and photographing every aspect of Nature that I love and hold dear: live oaks, Spanish moss, radiant red camellias, marshes and tidal creeks, paths through the woods, golden afternoon light, and glorious and miraculous sunsets over the river and harbor. Nature heals me time and again, and in just over two months the land will be alive again with blooming azaleas, birdsong and new green on the trees. Life goes on.

As Henri Nouwen wrote:

…It is you who decides what you think, say, and do. You can think yourself into a depression, you can talk yourself into low self-esteem, you can act in a self-rejecting way. But you always have a choice to think, speak, and act in the name of God and so move toward the Light, the Truth, and the Life…

One would think the solitary life would make this easier.