It happened during the solstice

Sometimes you let the darkness out. Sometimes it lets itself out.

I don’t think it was coincidence that it happened just before 10:27 last night. That was the moment of the winter solstice, the symbolic death and rebirth of the sun.

I have a hard time with the dark days of winter, and I always have. The shortened daylight, the fading sun at 4 p.m., the feeling that 5 is a reasonable dinner time followed by bedtime at 6:30.

Each year, starting at the end of Daylight Savings in October, I count down the days until December 21. To me, that’s the day we hit the very top of that steep hill and things being to turn— just a tiny bit more light, no more than a minute at a time. Each day, the sun feels just a little more welcome to stay longer, maybe kick off its shoes, pour a drink, eventually hang out until dinner.

(Real dinner, not 5 p.m. dinner.)

I don’t think it was coincidence that just before 10:27 last night, everything came flooding out of me.

Weeks, months of holding everything together for everybody just…came out. It was one of those uncontrolled, long stretches of sobbing brought on by nothing in particular. You can’t even identify exactly “what’s going on?” when asked, because it’s everything. And nothing. No, not that, not you, no it’s not your fault. You’re just feeling the weight of all the things. It’s a lot.

But also, it’s December 21. Which means you can see the light will be coming back again. That very moment, at the peak of the incline, I think that’s maybe when you give your permission to let everything go.

Like when your kids are little and they’re sick in bed—you cradle them as they clutch their stomachs and lower their faces over a bucket you’ve brought into the room, and you stroke their hair and say, it’s okay…just let it out. Let it all out.

And they do.

And I did.

Let it all out. You’ll feel better.

Afterwards, there was a lot of talking and hugging and I love you’s. We found the good-enough Christmas playlist, we finally hung the lights, complete with the annual play fight about what goes on top of the tree (Freddy Fazbear plush, Thalia wins) and the annual play fight about the color of the lights (solid white, no flashing, I win).

Thalia set up her annual Jurassic pole display, which might be too irreverent to even share here this year.

It was a smaller tree than usual, but we said that meant it would have to be a “best of” tree. Just the ornaments we really loved.

We hung the the Sugarplum Fairy and the Ruth Bader Ginsburg; the painted wooden animals and handmade glass ones I try to bring home from every city I’ve visited around the world; the silly Star Wars characters and Jon’s mom’s hand-sewn Santas; the silver bell engraved for me when I was born; Sage’s crudely painted Harry Potter characters that still make us laugh; the “nerd love” felt robots I bought for Jon our first Christmas together; the ten years of matching M’s and L’s and T’s and S’s.

The “Best Of” Tree.

Nerd Love

Ron Weasley? Maybe?

I’m calling it 8 Crazy Nights at Freddy’s. IYKYK

The kids let me take photos without complaint. We shouted the lyrics along with Mariah Carey and Kelly Clarkson and Wham!, and mumbled them along with Elvis. We each picked our favorite Peanuts character dance when Vince Guaraldi came on. My kids taught me some kind of Stewie dance and filmed me, laughing at me the entire whole time, even as I was yelling DON’T POST THIS ANYWHERE!

(They probably posted it somewhere.)

I was up for it. I was up for anything.

I am ready for joy.

I am ready for light.

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