Where Are You Christmas?

Where are you, Christmas? I'm so grateful that I don't recognize you this year. Not one thing is the same, and that takes a bit of the sting out of this damn holiday.

Nothing is more effective at highlighting loneliness and pain than the holiday season. Every year since my son has been gone, this time of year has slayed me. It's like pouring alcohol on an open wound. I despise tradition. I LOATHE "whole family togetherness".

This year feels different. We're in a new home. Nothing looks the same here. And I'm so grateful. My oldest son refuses to help pick out our Christmas tree now, and I love him for it. It's so much easier for me to be "present" when Easton is not the only one missing. The fact that it's just my husband and the girls picking it out makes it possible for me to breathe.

I don't like being "all together but not really". It's only been this year that I can stand the 5 of us being in the same room at the same time, and still I notice the vacancy. That may sound horrible, but it isn't something you can judge. It's not a feeling I would have asked for, or even known it would be possible. So, you can imagine that when I buy presents for 4 children and only 3 open them up on Christmas morning that I'm probably not going to love that day.

This year I decided to kind of do my own form of immersion therapy. I bought Christmas decorations for our new house and put them up EARLY. I have TWO decorated trees. I was done buying and wrapping gifts long before today, and I even REQUESTED a cookie making day. I blasted Christmas music every chance I got. I did it in part because I believe this may be my youngest daughter's last "magic" year. And it kills me to have "missed" the previous ones. But I also did it to desensitize myself to the inevitable knives that the holidays bring.

I don't know that I'll ever enjoy Christmas as I once did. I think that maybe the loss of a child steals that part of you. Or maybe it takes time. Or maybe it's like the rest of the grief process, where each minute is a crapshoot.

What I have certainly learned about grief and holidays specifically, is that no one is in a place to judge another person for any decisions they make. I would have never guessed in a million years that I would be this person. I loved Christmas and every tradition we had. Now those very things I loved, cut me deeper than I can ever do justice with words.

This year is also different because my dad isn't here. And that sounds particularly terrible, but I don't mean that I'm glad he isn't here. I'm just glad that Easton isn't the ONLY one missing. I miss my dad like crazy, and I can't wait to see him. But that's just it. I have the option of seeing him again. That's not true of my E. And sure, "someday you'll see him in heaven." Ok, I doubt that would be sufficient for anyone, so it isn't helpful.

I'm grateful for my experiences this year. I love our new house and the comfort it provides. I was able to spend some time in Haiti with Jeff and shared my love of it with him. But there are still 4 stockings, and only three children reaching for them. That's not something that can be repaired with tinsel and carols. So I'm especially grateful that the holiday is so unrecognizable this year. Every second of my life without my son has been unrecognizable to me. Christmas finally matches...