I laugh as I make Christmas cookies. I stir a batch real quick, and then grab another batch out of the oven.
The batch I just stirred gets scooped onto the pan, and I cut out Christmas shapes. A tree shape, a Santa shape, a gingerbread man shape... I have more shapes, and use them as well.
Then it's into the oven they go, and I grab the icing for the cookies that are ready to be frosted. I pipe swirls of green onto a tree shaped cookie.
I breathe in the aroma, and close my eyes. "Mmmmmmmmm." They smell good. As I began to mix together yet another batch of cookie dough, I'm suddenly struck with a memory.
Last Christmas, I was making cookies with my fiance. We laughed, and he wiped frosting off my cheek. I stagger back. I clutch the whisk tightly, and hold my other hand to my cheek.
"Oh, no..." It's my first Christmas without him.
I had hoped making cookies like normal would restore some semblance to my normal life, or help me forget the bad memories about his accidents, at least for a little bit. No.
They just make me miss him even more fiercely, if that was even possible. I grit my teeth as a tear trickles down the same cheek I was just holding. I gasp his name. I miss him. I miss him.
But crying won't bring him back. If he were here today, he would hate it if I was crying the week of Christmas. I have to stop crying. For him. For me.
I slowly get up, wiping away the tears. I continue finishing my cookies. One thing at a time. And maybe someday I'll smile when I think about him, not cry.