January's a tough month

January is hard for me.

You may have have seen the meme that rolls around when severe winter weather hits that no farms will be closed due to inclement weather. Although bitter in tone, the meme is actually correct: the farm doesn't shut down no matter how cold it gets, how much snow piles up, how much rain falls, or how strongly the winds blow. The animals still need food and water and shelter—and their shelters need to be cleaned regularly.

Winter makes life tough on the farm. Everything is harder. The hydrant freezes. Water buckets freeze and breaking the ice all too often cracks them, which means making sure to have extra buckets on hand to replace them. I buy new buckets every year just to replace the ones that break during the coldest winter months, January and February.

January is difficult in other ways, too.

The sky doesn't shift from dark to dawn until long after I'm supposed to awaken and get my butt in gear for the day. Dusk still comes early. The cold draft wafting off the windows keeps me chilled. Discomfort combined with long, dark hours and dull, cloudy days makes me want to hibernate through the winter. Fighting against the natural instinct to hunker down in a comfortable, warm bed all day takes a lot of effort.

The emotional impact of January cannot be understated. The end-of-year holidays are poignant enough, but January is an anniversary month soaked in painful memories. I buried my father four years ago, on his birthday no less. Three years ago, my son died. He committed suicide. I buried my boy on the anniversary of my father's burial.

Many people do not like to use the word "commit" with the word "suicide." It sounds criminal to them. I think "commit" is the correct and appropriate term. My son committed to an action and followed through.

His death broke my heart. It broke husband's heart. It broke our other son's heart. The grief neither fades nor ends.

I ping-pong between grief and distraction. I don't want to work, but I must. I want to hibernate, but I can't. I'm both exhausted and restless. I'm torn between wanting to wallow in grief and desperation for distraction. I generally opt for distraction.

How I do I distract myself? I work. I read. I sleep.

I loathe January.