Christmas sneaks up on me. Every year it shows up and every year I’m surprised that it arrived so fast. Every year around the end of September, I began to dread the final 3 months of the year. I dread October, November and December, waiting for the New Year, well, like a kid on Christmas.
Surprise, Surprise, Christmas is less than a month away and again, I’m not ready. I don’t so much dislike Christmas itself. I, like so many others wading through grief that never seems to end, hate all of the reminders of those that are supposed to be here with us during this “joyful” season.
Zoe’s 12th birthday is next week on December 5th. I remember the day she was born like it happened today before breakfast. I have very vivid memories of the time shortly before her arrival, her actual delivery and the overwhelming darkness that sank into me during those days and months after. In the beginning, it’s all like a bad dream. I kept waiting to wake up from this agony that gripped me inside and out. I was completely broken on the inside, and my body ached from having labored 17 hours and delivered her, followed by a post-partum hemorrhage that bought me a trip to the OR for a D&C for retained placenta a few hours after her birth. I laid in that hospital bed with empty arms where there was supposed to be a sweet, blond baby that looked like her older brother. I remember my husband driving us home where gifts from our baby shower a few days before were still sitting in the backseat. I remember walking into our little home knowing that our friends had removed all of her things at my request (I’m so thankful to them for taking care of this for me), knowing that she would never come home to the room she was supposed to share with her big brother. The time came too fast that my milk came in and knowing that it would all be wasted with no baby to nourish.
These are the things that I remember when someone mentions that Christmas is right around the corner. These are the moments, along with many others that flash through my mind when someone asks have I done all my shopping. These are the thoughts I have when someone shares that they are pregnant this time of year. It’s a physical pain that causes my breath to catch in my chest and my stomach to drop to my toes. I always try to keep my face neutral (it’s a work in progress) and hope that someone will change the subject quickly. Look, I’m just trying to make it through here.
Something I’ve learned crawling down this road: there’s not enough Christmas Magic to make me forget that there are supposed to be two more kids opening gifts on December 25th. This past Sunday, Avery and I put up the Christmas tree. There were many years that I didn’t decorate at all. We stayed Christmas Eve night at my mother-in-laws (where Christmas decorations threw up) so I didn’t bother. Now, I do it because the years of Santa are short and I’m not ready for that part of our lives to be over yet. I placed the lights on the shrubs out front and wrapped a few gifts. Not enough Magic. I hung the stockings and put out my holiday pillows. Still not enough Magic. We have ornaments for Zoe and Heath to add to our tree and this year, it was particularly hard to place them. Nope, not enough by a long shot. When N and A are adults, I want them to remember Christmas as a memory they love, not what it reminds me we’re missing. I want them to remember the soft, wispy feelings they had as they came down the stairs on Christmas morning, no sadness and loss.
So here I am. Just here…
I’m enraged that they aren’t here.
I’m bitter that there are 2 empty seats at our table.
I’m livid that I’m not buying Lego sets and all things boy for the 6 year old that should be writing his letter to Santa.
I’m furious that there isn’t a 12 year old girl asking for things that are too teenager-y for her.
I’m infuriated there aren’t more stockings needed.
I’m enraged that I feel like I’m the only one that remembers them (logically, I know it’s not true, but that’s how it feels).
I’m furious that the only reminders of them the world will have once I’m gone are the two gravestones with matching block lettering.
Apparently, I’m just angry.
I thought I would be done with that season of grief, but as they say, the stages aren’t linear. I’m moving through the stages randomly, sometimes grouping many together at once. I’m remembering things that I don’t want to, but I also am so scared I’ll forget. This is so complicated and exhausting.
I say all of that so that I can say this: if you’re reading this and are feeling the loss of someone that is supposed to be sitting at your table this season, you are not alone. Give yourself a break and do what you need to do to get through the holidays with your sanity intact — or what’s left of it, no judgement here. If that means skipping some events or avoiding certain people, then do it. If you need to bow out from the Christmas dinner that is sure to push you closer to the edge, then *cough, cough* you should stay home. (Can’t risk giving Grandma Covid, ya know?) And if other’s don’t understand it, that’s ok. You’re not responsible for their feelings. Give yourself some grace.
Merry Christmas.
— E
P.S. Sorry if I rambled, sometimes it doesn’t come out the way I want, but that’s life.
Life Inside Looking Out 