Yom Kippur brings me down

And I'm not even fasting. It has always felt like very heavily emotionally charged holiday to me. As holidays go, it is the grimmest. Not only do you have to starve (and in my case this translates into bitchiness from hell), you also have to ask forgiveness and feel guilty, two things I tend to do with reckless abandon (particularly the second one, not so much the first one).
But seriously, this day reminds me of my parents, who are not here any more. Of my mom, who used to take it really seriously and spend the day at temple praying and crying her eyes out, which always overwhelmed me, when we were not bickering about me being hungry and me really bitching about the stupid holidays (in a most ungracious way). And it reminds me of my dad, who chose to completely ignore the injunctions and the proceedings and who would basically just show up for the after-fast dinner, having eaten during the day, probably pork tacos. It reminds me of my maternal grandparents, who hosted the most amazing Jewish holiday dinners, with the most delicious food and the most authentic tradition, and after they were gone, the families of their children scattered and made smaller dinners on their own and everything changed. It reminds me of Mexico, because when I lived there I had to show up to these things, whereas here I ignore them. I don't belong to any temple and I don't have any family. Thus, Yom Kippur comes around and I celebrate by thinking about these things and feeling very sad.