I haven't talked about grief in awhile, and there's a reason for that I suppose. It's just always there. It shifts and changes. It teaches and torments. It causes darkness and provides clarity. But one thing remains steadfast through all the changes, and that is simply that it never leaves.
When I used to think about a lifetime of grief, it made me nauseous. I would physically react to the thought of carrying the weight of this burden for the rest of my life. However, in true "what-the-hell-is-grief-gonna-do-next" fashion, that thought has shifted once again.
Christmas felt different this year. It's felt different every year since Easton died, of course, but this year's differences struck me as more unexpected than normal. This year I noticed my gratitude for Christmastime was greater than even before our loss. The family time and togetherness I was able to experience felt deeper and richer than I've previously felt. And that's not to say that I didn't appreciate Christmas when my earthly family was whole. I did. I just didn't understand fully, exactly how gracious I could be for that specific time.
Christmas used to be my favorite time of year. I, like many, would get swept away by the magical feeling it brings. I loved decorating. I loved buying the perfect gift. I loved the family time. And I THOUGHT I knew what it meant to be grateful for that. But I didn't. Even though I knew in my head that not everyone enjoys the holidays, that some experience depression, and that some people don't have loved ones around, I didn't ACTUALLY KNOW the depths of that pain. You can know something, and not KNOW it. If grief has taught me nothing else, it has taught me that! Although I could articulate that I was grateful for family and friends, somewhere in the recesses of my subconscious I felt OWED those things. Almost like it was whispering "well sure I'm grateful, but of course I have a happy, healthy family. Of course I have a loving partner and kids opening presents." That sounds ridiculous even as I write it, but ultimately it's true. So, after Easton died, I mourned many things, obviously. One thing I was really PISSED about was that grief had taken my love for Christmas. I couldn't breathe on what used to be my favorite holiday. I resented family members who could still enjoy moments of Christmas. It opened an already bleeding wound that I was sure would never heal. My grief, my pain, my agony, showed up in sheer anger. And I've felt this way for MANY years.
The past few years, while anger has certainly been my companion at Christmastime, it has softened, slowly. The addition of two children whose Christmas experiences needed to be good ones, certainly softened some edges. My best friend being a professional gift giver and lover of making a big deal out of birthdays and holidays was a huge part of my ability to sort of hold pressure on that wound, at least long enough to mimick her process. The past couple of years, I've overbought for my children. And it isn't because I think they need THINGS. It's because I was trying to heal a portion of myself I assumed had long since died. Despite the fact that my children are older, I still choose wrapping paper they've never seen. I hide their gifts from them, and I put them out the night before Christmas after they've gone to bed. They humor me now, as a way of honoring both my grief, as well as their own. Even if they don't realize that's what they're doing, it most certainly is a part of the healing process.
This year, I not only looked forward to Christmas, I sat and listened to my now teenage grievers and asked them what THEY would like to see happen in relationship to their brother on Christmas. It was healing and eye opening, and only this year have I been in a place to even ask the question, let alone honor the answer I was given. And I make no apologies for that. I have done exactly all that I could in order to keep breathing each day of the past 10+ years. I'm so grateful for each agonizing step we've taken that has gotten us to this place. I've spent this year having HARD conversations about grief with my children. They've shared their current pain as well as their childhood pain that I wasn't able to hear about when they were young. I'm in a place now in my grief life that I can hold some of that for them. I can let them know that I realize they lost their mother for awhile, and that although I couldn't have done it any differently, that I'm sorry for the intense pain and fear that caused them. I'm able to do the same for my husband. We left one other while grieving. We had to. Not physically, but emotionally, and that's certainly worse in my book. We couldn't be what the other needed at that time. And so we're using our combined knowledge of our own specific grief to carry one another through this particular part of the journey. That's not to say that it won't shift again someday. We aren't naive enough to believe we have learned all things "grief".
I guess this rambling is simply meant to highlight my gratitude for my grief journey. Would I prefer ignorance and having my son here doing all the preteen things that make a mother crazy? Sure. But that wasn't our soul plan. That wasn't what was mapped out for us. So, I'll take our mutual agreement to learn grief, longing, sacrifice, and gratitude, and I'll see things differently than I would have had I never known the honor of being his mother. ❤️💛💙
