I’m going to take a minute and change the tone from all of the gloriously kinky shit I have been writing about.

Tomorrow is Christmas.

I should be wrapping presents and making cookies right now. Obviously, as you can probably see, I am not doing those things.

No, instead I am staring at the empty space in my living room where my tree should be and drowning out the echos in my head with music that is too loud and not at all festive.

This is the second year I have not put up my tree, or decorated. Christmas used to be my favorite holiday. It lost a lot of it’s Joy and magic for me nearly two years ago.

Saying that I am surprised at how long it has been.

Two years. Two whole years?

Ugh.

I would loose myself in the gym, but it’s closed, because why? Oh that’s right. Christmas.

I used to absolutely love, love, love going Christmas shopping. I started early too and put a lot of thought into things I got people. I like to give others nice presents, not expensive, but thoughtful. And I absolutely loved seeing the look on their face when they would open it.

I never much cared for receiving gifts. But I have always loved giving them. But, that shouldn’t really surprise you.

I found a whole new love for Christmas the first time I heard the shriek of a very excited little boy.

“Santa came! MOM! Santa came!”

The love and happiness I was blessed to have shared with them probably will never be matched. Nothing comes close to a child’s unconditional love.

I miss them.

I still have a hole in my heart, and it is going to take a very long time to heal.

My friends don’t understand why I won’t put up my tree.

Because santa isn’t coming this year. Or the next.

And I’m not ready to wake up to an empty tree and an even emptier house.

The boys still have your Christmas presents under their pillows

He might as well have just twisted the knife too.

I wanted to scream it’s your fault you fuck, it’s your fault I can’t see them.

But I held my silence instead.

Eventually he stopped “dropping by,” stopped messaging me. Stopped tormenting me.

He ripped my heart out and then dangled it in front of me, used them as an excuse to see me, to stay the night at my house, in my bed, with me. He manipulated them like he did me.

I will heal eventually, I may have a big nasty scar, but it will heal. I just hope that the damage he did, hasn’t killed the nerves and that they can still feel through all of the scar tissue.

I may not have carried them, or birthed them, but they were mine. All the dirt, noise, laughter, tears, and scraped knees. They were my boys, my kids, my children for nearly 5 years. And I, was mom.

Was.

So, no. I’m not putting up my tree this year.

The ache fades a little more every day, and I can feel that hole in my heart healing.

But I am still not ready for a tree.

I got you something for Christmas, it’s not big, it’s rather simple actually, but it’s something that you want and need. And for the first time in two years I can say I am actually looking forward to giving someone a Christmas gift.

Maybe next year I will be ready to put that gift under a tree.