My mother died one year ago today.
I honestly didn't think that I would be affected so by this anniversary...but I find myself very down. Flat affect, as they say. I usually enjoy, if that is the correct word, Holy Week...but this year I just don't care; I don't feel anything. I'm not blogging because I have nothing to say.
We wound up not going to Palm Sunday services, muchly because the thought of contending with loud, misbehaving children fencing with cardboard palm fronds and otherwise coopting the worship was a little more than I could handle. I'm going back and forth about our Maundy Thursday service, which involves a stew-and-bread meal incorporating the Eucharist -- partly because there are some dietary issues in our household that will make the menu problematic for us, but partly because...well...novelty isn't something that makes me feel comfortable this week. I don't want to be a part of a performance art installation or small-group experience. I want to be an anonymous worshipper in the back of a church, in a by-the-book service where I don't have to be "on" in any way.
I just don't feel very good. And as I'm not feeling good I'm bracing for the online criticism that Holy Week isn't about me, it's not about feeling good, do I think it was a picnic for Jesus, what is the matter with me anyway, stop whining and get with the program.