The first frost came this weekend. The ground was stiff and unyielding, the leaves tumbled down by the handful. Canadian Geese that were lax in their migration plans took notice and flew overhead in giant shouting flocks. The sun came up and set as it was supposed to, the cats caught their mice, the dishwasher washed its dishes. Nothing happened that shouldn’t have. Nothing extraordinary occurred. It was just life. Life as it ever was.

I wonder at what point what was is something that you no longer think about. What was is gone and will not come back. What is has taken up residence and moved in while you were outside, carrying pots of rotting geraniums and getting ready for the cold.

I tell myself that I am being a baby. I tell myself to grow up and do it sometime soon. I tell myself to ignore that voice in the back of my head, the one that whimpers and says that all it wants is once the twins go to bed, to go into my own bed, pull the shades down, and go to sleep. That’s giving in kind of talk and signs that I didn’t heed my previous instructions to grow up and get over myself.

I give myself a few more days and then it’s time to tidy up after my pity party. The revellers have to go home at some point. Life goes on. It’s time to heed my own advice – you can feel low. You can of course be down but there is always an up. You just have to be patient and wait for it to get here from whatever sidetrack it’s currently on.

I source things to make life easier – graters for people with arthritis. Trying out handwarmers as I walk the dog. Finding footwarmers that fit into shoes. Turning the radio on when I’d rather brood in silence. Sourcing boots with better support to encase my failing ankle. Making arrangements with colleagues to cover my work during surgeries. Being open with people about what’s going on with me. Training my left hand to start taking on responsibilities that the right one is shirking. It’s time I stopped mourning and just got on with things.

Beneath my fingers, the feeling of pulling open an advent calendar door, the tiny perforations giving way with the slightest of tugs. The world tastes like cherries and rum and decorations made out of lightly baubled glass. When I close my eyes I see a bobbing blond ponytail and a little boy with lights in his eyes. We carved another pumpkin together this weekend – it took a long time as I used only one hand. The carving was rough and stupid. The jack-o-lantern itself looks mental. Neither of them cared, they just loved carving it together. They don’t think of me as a failure. I just need to take a page out of their book.

What starts to pull me out is the somewhat cheesy knowledge that I don’t need both hands to hold the people that I love.

What helps is an email that ended with: I love you and our family.

It’s the beginning of my up.

-S.