And So This Is Christmas?

Merry Christmas, Michael,

This is our first Christmas without  you here.  It has been a struggle.  I was determined to celebrate this Holiday. I have often wavered, and I have backed out on that promise more than once.  For weeks I have pretended that the Holidays don't exist, and I  have done everything I could, to live in a world where Christmas wasn't coming.

I imagine this Christmas is so very different for you than it is for me.  While I was in church this past Sunday, I closed my eyes and saw visions of you celebrating the birth of Christ in Heaven.  I could just see you there, pure joy on your face, surrounded by the saints, worshiping the Baby Jesus.  I could imagine you, sometime in the future, leading me to Christ and me falling at His feet in worship.  And, Michael, how I longed to be with you there.  I cannot even imagine what joy and ecstasy you must feel to celebrate this day, the birth of our Lord, right there with Him.  Do the angels sing sweetly?  Is there laughter and great celebrations?  Is it beyond anything we could ever dream?

But here on earth, here in this life, the contrast is almost unbearable.  Here on this earth, the pain is all encompassing.  I should be comforted that you are there, that you are at the throne of God, yet the absence of you is larger than even the air that I breathe.

I have dragged myself through this.  I have divorced myself from this earth.  Losing reality in the world of mourners on the computer.  Losing my temper, losing my self.  Missing you is overwhelming.  I see your face, I feel the absence of your body.  Mourning you clings to me like mold on old bread.  I cannot escape the sadness.

Today in the shower, like so many other days, when I finally mustered the motivation to drag myself into the shower, I cried.  I cried and I cried and I screamed until I thought  "I'm going to melt and disappear  down the drain".  I ran the warm water over me and begged for your touch.  I pleaded with you to just hold me.  Just be here, to kiss me, to put your arms around me.  I bargained and I pleaded with God to let the warmth of the water be the warmth of your arms.  But when I opened my eyes,there was no you, but there was blood.  There was blood covering the front of my body, blood pooling in the bottom of the shower. When I reached my hand up to wipe my face, to discover where this vital fluid was coming from, my hand came away, holding the blood that was freely flowing out of me.  And I begged "please, let me be dying, let me die, Lord.  Let me be with Michael again.  This would be easy, oh please, please, take me to him".  But the blood was only from my nose, and the bleeding stopped, and I lived.  But for that moment I had hope...hope that I could be with you again.

I lost my temper with Tru.  I am so easily angered these days.  He won't mind me, he fights with me over every single thing, no matter how big or small.  Today, it was because in twenty degree weather, he didn't want to wear his winter coat.  It was a major battle that escalated into war.  And it scares me that he defies me, and it hurts me that he wouldn't act like this with you, but he takes his anger of your being gone out on me and I don't know what to do?  I"m failing him, Michael.  You left a beautiful little boy behind and our anger and pain has turned him into a monster at times, a monster that I don't know how to handle.

When we got to the store and I parked, I held him on my lap.  I told him that I'm so very sad because I miss you so much, and I know that he's very sad and angry too.  I told him how much I love him and how glad I am that I have him (even though I offered to give him away on Face Book today).  I told him that we should each try to help the other and that I needed him to help me by not arguing about things like coats and what he should eat. And that I would try not to yell at him for just being a little kid.

He's asleep now, dreaming of Santa.  Mickey helped me to get the stockings filled and the presents are under the tree.  It's not the tree that we had when you were here.  There are no piles of presents carefully wrapped and color coordinated, because I couldn't bring myself to shop.  But there's a tree, and Santa ate his cookies and he left toys for Tru.  There aren't three different kinds of pies baked and waiting for Christmas dinner, but I will make one pie tomorrow.  There are no gifts under the tree addressed to you, and no gifts for me from my husband.  There will be no sweet and romantic Christmas card from you on my pillow when I go to sleep.  I won't get into the bed and put my hand on your head and tell you that I love you.  But there is a warm, sleeping little boy in there.  Snuggled up on Popi's pillow dreaming of Santa.

This has been a hard week, Baby.  But, it's almost over. And just like this week, this Holiday will soon pass. So will the months, and the years, and one of those days, it will be the day that I will see you again, and we will once more celebrate our Saviors birth together.  And I hope that by that time, Tru will be able to look back and remember happy Christmases and a happy Mawmo who laughed and wrapped presents and baked three different kinds of pies for him. I hope that he will remember the joy of this day.  I hope that he will remember the Christmases that the three of us once shared.

And, so tomorrow, I will try to laugh. I will try to play with his toys with him, and not yell because I'm missing you so much.  I will try to find some joy and I will try to tell him stories of you and stories of why we really celebrate Christmas.

And so, this is Christmas, Baby.  Merry, merry Christmas to you.

Mistletoe and Widows Weeds

Dear Michael,

The Holidays are fast approaching.  There are Salvation Army Santa's ringing their bells, Christmas music being piped through the mall.  Lights are lit on the Plaza, the stores are brimming with bargains that reek of merriment and joy, and the kids are all excited about the magic of Christmas.  Everywhere people are rushing to the stores and the television plays classic Christmas movies....the movies we grew up with, the ones we always watched late at night while eating crackers and cheese and drinking wine.

The ghost of Christmas past is haunting me.  It shows me scenes from our life together.  I see the lights on the house, the trees that were decorated in three different rooms,  the house smells of cookies and cheesecakes that I've been baking and there are presents to wrap and put under the tree.  I hear the love and laughter that echoed through our home.  I see you coming in from the cold, smelling like snow, and I feel the coldness of your ears as I welcome you home with a kiss and a hug under the mistletoe.

Then the ghost of Christmas Present appears to torture me, to show me what my life has become.  The tree is up and lit..but there are no decorations on it.  They still sit in the boxes strewn around the living room floor.  I've only bought one gift, it's not wrapped..heck, I haven't even paid the bills this month, I haven't combed my hair today.  Our little guy is tired of watching the endless Christmas movies that I play for him, hoping to somehow infuse this sadness with some Christmas Spirit.  Depending on canned laughter, characters in a movie and slapstick comedy to somehow spread some Christmas Cheer into his life.  But, I think even at five, he sees the contrast between the happy people in the movie and us.

We went to the Christmas Play at the Baptist Church with the neighbors,(when they said to take care of the widows and orphans, Tru turned to me and said "You're a widow".) we look at the lights on the neighbors houses (our house remains unlit), and I decorated your grave.  I made you a grave blanket.  It was beautiful and sad and I wanted to make it for you.  I could hear you tell me "G, you can just do anything".  

I made you your Christmas present this year, and it was a grave blanket!  And I took pictures of it and when I put the pictures on the internet for all to see....it suddenly hit me!  My husband is in there!  My sweet, wonderful husband is in that grave covered by greenery, covered by dirt.  My beautiful, wonderful, warm, loving husband was buried 6 months ago.  And the reality of it is like hot coals in the pit of my stomach.  And I beg this ghost of Christmas present to leave me, to bring back the Ghost of Christmas Past.  

I am determined to get through this, Michael.  I close my eyes and I move forward.  Going through the motions, ignoring the fact that the Holidays will come.  I focus on other tasks.  Tomorrow, my goal is to put up the tree.  I HATE that tree.  I HATE the lights and the baking and the cards I'll send out.  I HATE that you are not with me here.  I HATE this missing you and I wait for the waves of pain to pass so that I can bake cookies and order Christmas presents on line.  So that I can do this thing.  So that I can TRY to make a memory for Tru that's good and happy, so that he doesn't look back on this Christmas and remember nothing but the pain.

There are times I yell at you and ask if you realize what you left me to?  Do you see me falling apart?  See the house a mess, the laundry piling up?  Do  you see me wearing these tired old pajamas and forgetting to comb my hair?  Do you see me walking around like a zombie..the life sucked out of me and all my energy drained along with my happiness? Do you see how scared I am?  How I'm afraid of everything now? Do you even recognize me now? (Because I hardly recognize myself). Or do you see me surviving?  Do you see that so far, we're still living, still moving forward? Do you look at me and know that I will make it and that this life is only for a moment and eternity is waiting with all it's glory and wonder and love?

And what of the Ghost of Christmas Future?  Would it show me that I'm still in this house of mourning? Still wearing my widow's weeds? Will it show that things never got better?  Or will it show me a future where Tru has grown into a man you would be proud of?  Will it show me that God has used this pain and my life to His Glory? Or will it show me that even though I never stopped missing you, I found a way to live my life, to find some happiness in this existence that God has destined me to?

I miss you so much, Michael.  I need you so badly and you seem so very, very far away right now. If I could have just one wish, I would wish you here with Tru and me for just one day.  One Christmas morning.  Just one more Christmas of finding a Christmas card on my pillow when I come to bed, one Christmas morning of waking up next to you, one Christmas morning of watching together as our little guy opened his presents.  If I could have just one wish Michael, it would be to have just one more of your sweet, wonderful kisses under the mistletoe.  Just one more.

I love you, Baby Boy.