The third Christmas. In 2010 I never imagined what this would be like. If I had, I would have been wrong. The grieving is an ongoing task, easier some days and weeks, so much harder at other times. And always it catches me off guard.
I was at the cemetery today, taking care of a Christmas tree for Kerry’s baby brother. As always, I wonder what kind of boy, and now young man, he would have been. What he would have brought into our world. I spent some moments with Linda, and freshened things up. And I caught myself being so angry that I am spending holidays with her in a cold cemetery making her grave pretty- as if she were there. I know she’s not. We shared a strong faith, and I saw her in the wonder of seeing others come back for her the week she was dying. She was absolutely certain of where she was going and who was waiting for her. But in the absence of Linda, her grave is what I have to visit. Then back in the car and back to the millions of errands needed to make Christmas happen at home for our kids. Put the sadness, the loss, the grief away. Time to get the to-do list done!
Three Christmases. All but one has graduated. Two are driving with licenses. All have opinions and attitude at times. Especially at the holidays, whether toward me or one of her sisters. At the cemetery I have my moments of being mad that I have been left to manage all of it. To make the three kids enjoy the days and to hide my sadness. To meet their expectations and to make sure the holidays are always the way they used to be as much as they can be. To not take personally the attitudes and the self centeredness that are the teen years and wishing they could, for once, see that I might have a need once in a while and offer some help without being asked.
It’s hard work being the surviving parent. Until you have been there, it’s really unimaginable. I lost my beloved dad, and I miss him terribly. I lost an incredibly special aunt, and that is still with me. My grandparents share a grave with Kerry’s brother. I send flowers to the family site in Florida every year for my dad’s parents and Aunt Pat. But none of that compares to the ongoing losses of your spouse and the parent of your kids. Those new drivers should have had Mama there to cheer. Those graduations should have had Mama there. The one coming in June will hurt most of all, because Linda begged her doctors to let her see Chloe walk across that stage in cap and gown. Every holiday is a chance to make it better, to get past the missing, to not focus on it for their sake. But it’s also my time to know how much Linda isn’t there with us. It hurts so very, very much. And it’s so tiring. The kids can’t know how much faster I get tired now from fending off demands and keeping things on target. Why can’t I stay out all night? Why can’t I do this, that, or the other thing???!! Because your mom is so sad sometimes and does not get to show it. So she doesn’t have the energy to explain it. She is doing the very best she can. Sometimes that really is all there is. There is only one of me. You can’t say that to kids, no matter how old they are. But I can think it…and then stop from reacting to it.
It’s Christmas. It was my favorite time of year. I’m trying to keep it there. To hear Linda’s laugh, and begging me to tell her what I got her. And begging for a bigger budget for stuff. And planning how to display the presents to make them smile when they wake up. That first Christmas with Kerry when she made sure the My Size Barbie had Kerry’s matching dress lying across Barbie’s arms as if it were an offering, in front of the play kitchen and with the new stocking from Mrs. Claus next to them. The next year when we had two girls and two My Size Barbies, and had to out-do the previous year. The first year we realized between the two of us that we were not promised any more Christmases, but could not tell anyone. The stress of the last Christmas together- I knew it in my heart, and so did Linda. But we never said it. It hurt too damn much. Now that reality is three years old. Casper does not remember little girl Christmases with the kids. Charity doesn’t share that history with us, and is missing her own birth family and especially her brother and grandmother. It’s time to stop the missing and the sadness and to focus on the new memories. And to find the energy to remember they are teens, and they aren’t going to think about much outside their own realm. And hope, for the third time, I can do it with a smile, make new memories, and keep those we miss present in our holidays. Because if we don’t the love we shared is diminished.
No comments:
Post a Comment