The Word of Sadness

Tristitia means sadness, wretchedness, unhappiness.  Isn't that ironic?  Trista's name means sadness.  I feel weird this holiday season.  It didn't feel like Thanksgiving and it doesn't feel like Christmas is coming.  These days are little more than just that; they are days.  Normal days...shouldn't they be sacred and holy?  Shouldn't they be joyful?

I miss my friend.  It's easier to talk about her these days.  Some days hurt more than others, but I know she wouldn't want me moping around.

I find that family makes the sadness better, that is, until I have to leave.  Then I am so burdened on the road home.  It's family that makes the holidays.  I can't come home for Christmas.  Sigh.  I want them to be near to me.  That would be nice.

I spoke with a woman yesterday who lost her father the Saturday before Thanksgiving.  How sad.  She was crying when she spoke about it.  I hurt for her.  The holidays are so cold without family.  Spaces remain where loved ones used to be.  As I grow older, I know more spaces will appear, seats vacated.  The winter will become colder, and little bit harsher.  It's love that keeps me warm, and I now realize that I rely heavily on my family and friends to give me hope that I don't find easily.  It'll be okay.  I think this moodiness is my cross to carry.