It’s the holidays, and my gift to you is that you will hear from me frequently. Just kidding.

Well, not kidding about hearing from me frequently, but kidding about it being a gift. Hopefully you have higher expectations for gifts this year.

But I am here. And I wish I could do more for those of you who read my blog regularly. I appreciate you, and you deserve the best possible holiday season. Maybe you don’t know how to make that happen. Maybe you are flying by the seat of your pants. But I am here and I am rooting you on.

Because the holidays and dementia. It’s a lot.

The holidays are hard. They can be joyful, peaceful, fulfilling, as well. They can be more than one thing.

They can be sad and rewarding. They can be difficult and joyous. They can be depressive and happy. They can be any combination of anything.

It’s not an either/or.

You get to feel whatever you feel, and it may be all over the place if you live with dementia or are a care partner. Or if you’ve lost someone recently. Or even not so recently. Or if you’re divorced or struggling with chronic illness. Or if you are struggling financially. Or if you are going through IVF.

It seems like many of us have complex situations that put us on the holiday struggle bus.

And we watch Hallmark movies (well, I don’t because the plot is the same every time and I am the least romantic person on earth) and have these expectations that our holidays will end on a happy note with a bow wrapping it all up. And then those sappy commercials with those happy harmonious families celebrating together…

Comparison is the thief of joy.

I didn’t make that up. I just Googled it, and it sounds like the quote is attributed to Teddy Roosevelt.

If you prefer, “Comparison is the death of joy” is attributed to Mark Twain. I will go with the Mark Twain version because I lived in towns on the Mississippi for the first 18-ish years of my life.

When we talk about comparison in this context, we think of the comparison between ourselves and others. The comparison between our holidays and the holidays of our neighbors. Our meager light display and the full-blown light show down the street with that giant blow-up reindeer.

Your family has been impacted by dementia. You might look at families you know and even families on TV and in the movies. Your family is different than those families. You will celebrate the holidays in a different way than other families.

When we try to mimic other families, we are often disappointed. We are not them. Even at times when we don’t want to be us, we are still us.

Sometimes the comparison that kills your joy is your comparison of past and present. The holiday season now versus the holiday season 5 years before Mom’s diagnosis. New Year’s Eve last year when Dad was around to celebrate versus now when you watch the ball drop without him.

Sigh.

Your family is not only different from other families but different from how it used to be.

It’s an obvious statement. But think about it for a sec.

Maybe the rituals you’ve always found important, like midnight mass or the all day holiday gathering with the grandkids, don’t work anymore. When you are different, you need to change.

Don’t put square pegs in round holes.

Even if your peg used to be round.

I didn’t make up the first part (although I can’t find who I should credit) but maybe I made up the second part.

Have the best possible day.

If it helps, here is a picture of our kitten, Gladys.

I am pulling out all the stops here, folks.