Requisite holiday blog

The holidays have always made me, like many people, kind of sad. For a number of reasons, at this time of the year, my expectations are always a little too high, my loneliness a little sharper, my nostalgia a little more distinct. "That's a part of getting older, Candace," you might say, but you'd be wrong; it was worse when I was younger.

I think, for me, Christmas has always been a symbol of the kind of life I wanted, but didn't have. I spent much of my youth living with my Grandmother, who, though she loved me more than anyone in the world had a right to be loved, didn't understand the chemical signals in my head are all messed up. Who did?

So, I'd get deliriously happy when I'd see little white twinkling lights sprinkled out over the world. Blankets of snow, the red Salvation Army kettles, the bells, the way your breath feels heavy on the first frosty day, the smell of evergreens, the warmth of looking into my Grandmother's home from outside on the porch, where I would always end up...

And really, that image is what sums up my holiday melancholy: I have always been out on the porch, bundled up in my favorite red dress looking inside at my cousins and their moms and dads and my grandparents and siblings and they always seemed so genuinely happy...and I wanted to be happy there with them, but I was still there, alone, on the porch.

This is my first Christmas away from that porch, and it's a lot more difficult than I anticipated. Andy and I have started this amazing life together. Two kids, moved away to the land of prosperity. We've got friends and family here...people who love us and care for us and who make us want to reciprocate. And isn't it interesting to note that I've never, not once, felt like an outsider with them. I don't hide from these people...my family and friends. I don't hide from my husband when I'm sad. He knew I was broken when he asked me to marry him, to spend my life with him. He keeps me inside the house.

And our friends, our beautiful friends, who compel us to be better people every day: they also know I'm broken, and they love me anyway. I think my family would have, had they known that I needed something more, had they known that my holidays were spent out on the porch, but I never gave them the chance. And I'm sorry for that, because the time has slipped away from me, like time is wont to do, and I cannot get it back.

I hope that I've loved them the way that they needed to be loved, but I cannot be sure. So, please, let me ask you to spend your holidays paying attention to the people on the fringes...sometimes you don't know they're there, but they are. And they need you.