Have a holly, guilty Christmas

Yesterday, after a full day of sitting at home with the kids, opening presents and playing with those presents, and then picking up after all those presents time and time again, we started to get all 5 children ready for bed. As I was helping my 6 year old, Faith, I asked her if she had a good Christmas. She nodded quickly with a smile and I added, “Best one yet?” She nodded again.

Suddenly, I regretted asking her that. And for a split second I was hurt by her response. Of course I did my best to give her the best Christmas I could, but Christmas will be forever missing her daddy. And that’s something I can’t give back. And, I’m thrilled that she enjoyed our first Christmas as a family of 7, with two new sisters and wonderful dad in her life that love her immensely.  But my regret came from feeling like I made her choose between her life before and her life now. Obviously, that’s absurd but that’s how I felt in the moment.

As a widow, I am always careful about using phrases like “best day ever” or “best time ever” because it always feels like that is somehow disrespecting the life I had with Jeremy.  Like if I say it, it means Jeremy suddenly means less to me. So I steer clear of theses phrases of absolutes. I surprised even myself when I asked Faith if she had the best Christmas ever. I got caught up in the joy of a child-like excitement and when I heard her answer, it suddenly brought me back to reality.

I don’t want that to bother me. I want all of our kids to be able to have the best Christmas ever. When I really sat on it, I realized that I, too, enjoyed Christmas this year. What a far cry that has been from my last two Christmas’ and I was so thankful to have a happy home this year and to make new memories and new traditions. Even though grief is always hovering, there was a lot of joy too. But enjoying it made me feel guilty.

I’d hate to think that my best moments are behind me.  I have wonderful memories, but I know I’m not done making them. And so, I smile knowing that I can make good memories still, even some of my best, without comparing the life I had with Jeremy.

I’m glad Faith had the best Christmas ever.  And I think Jeremy is glad, too. 

Speaking to the Ghost of Christmas Past

The day Phil died, my world was irrevocably changed. No amount of crying, wishing, or begging could switch my new reality back to the reality of what seems like only moments ago. The first Christmas without him, I sat on the coach alone watching the kids open gifts that only I chose, purchased, wrapped, and stowed under the tree...barely able to keep from bawling all over their happiness. I swear I could hear my heart breaking again as reality slapped me in the face on what is touted as the merriest of days. I didn't believe the pain of missing him would ever lessen. I couldn't see how that was possible if Phil was still going to be dead...and unless there was some kind of amazing magic wand under the tree that could reverse my reality, Christmas seemed doomed for ever more.

What I know now is that the pain of missing Phil hasn't lessened. In fact, because the pain is part of my everyday life I have stopped watching it with a wary eye. So on occasion that powerful longing has the ability to sneak up behind me and sucker punch me in the gut...taking my breath for a moment in an unexpected swoop. But I now find this breathlessness bittersweet. Because missing him reminds me of how much I still love him. Temporarily being unable to believe that he really is dead oddly cements his memory over and over again. And each Christmas I find myself briefly visiting in my mind's eye the me that sat alone on the couch that Christmas morning in 2005, and wishing I could tell her that she will never forget the moments she is living.  In fact, she will revisit them time and time again. But not for the reason you may think.

So today, I'd like to share a few things with my Christmas 2005 self in the hope that if you find yourself sitting alone thinking that this will never get better these words may help you, too....

It's okay to cry. You won't drown, though I know you are afraid that you might. Let people love you. It really is the only thing they can do, on Christmas Day or any other day. Life could be worse. I know that is hard to hear right now, but it is true. Hold onto that. You won't forget. Even though the timber of his voice will fade, you will never forget the way he spoke to you or how his voice in your ear made you feel.

Life will keep moving whether you like it or not. And eventually you will move, too. It's okay. Phil did not take the best part of you with him when he died. No, he didn't. Don't argue with me. Forever does not apply to life, but it does apply to love. You will always love him. The holidays aren't the hardest days. Rainy days when he would have called you ten times hurt worse.

Ask for help. I know you hate appearing needy, but you can't do this alone. You need people who care. On that note, when you ask for help you give someone who loves you a gift. They want to help, but don't  know how. Help them help you.

Don't worry about always hating what has always been your favorite time of year. YOU will come back, it   just takes time. I know that patience is not one of your virtues, but this time you will have to wait it out. There is no shortcut.

This is not the end of the road for you. You have so much to do in this life, and so many opportunities to honor your love for Phil by living large. He would want that and deep down you know it. You will never be the same after losing Phil. Someday you will value this fact.

As the tears stream down your face many times today, know this: You can survive Phil's death. And you will.

The funny thing about the above list, is that even if I could have told myself all of these things, I doubt I would have believed them. But that's okay. I believe them now, for me and for you. One day you will value the tears you cry today. They are streams of love.

Merry Christmas, darling. Loved, and never forgotten.

Things I don't miss about Christmas

Warning – my brand of humour follows. I think I’m funny. You may disagree.

I feel short-changed.

For years, we would debate about whose family home we would spend Christmas in.
.... my parent’s home with their clean, relatively modern furniture, good food, great company and pleasant atmosphere
... or with his large, loud, argumentative family at the farm.

Now I loved my dearly departed parents-in-law, but they lived in one of the filthiest homes I have ever entered (see above).

And I say that with love.

They lived on a cattle farm in Queensland. Hot, humid Queensland. The house was packed to the rafters with “stuff” (think Hoarders but organised into piles of stuff and without actual rubbish).
There were no fly screens on the windows, so the heat-and-humidity-loving flies, dung beetles, spiders, large moths, frogs, mice and *snakes* also enjoyed sharing their home with them. Dust and fly-spots covered everything. And the very first time I ate a meal there, I was sitting under the fluoro light at the tiny kitchen table and a dung beetle fell onto my plate.

One Christmas, when I mentioned that a pervasive odour was making me feel ill, they lovingly and laughingly blamed this on the fact that I was pregnant and feeling morning sickness.
Until they found the dead cat under the water tank.

This on top of the looong trip to get there in the summer heat. The trip would normally take 3 hours ... but at Christmas, it was often more like 4 or 5 hours due to the traffic on the single highway heading north from the city. ...this was done with babies and small children who needed regular feeding and changing. Or the memorable trip home one night that included no less than 5 stops by the side of a busy highway so my toilet-training daughter could pee.

...and then of course, there were his siblings who like nothing better than a good, loud argument at each and every gathering.

So you may get why I spent the lead up to Christmas every year trying to persuade my ever-loving husband that, as we were a family now, Christmas should be spent at OUR house and the travelling north could wait until New Years. After all, they were on farm time and never really cared what day it was anyway so celebrating a week later was not a ridiculous concept.

...and I finally won that one in 2009.

We got exactly one single Christmas as a family in our home. One single Christmas where the kids weren’t given something like a trampoline from Santa, then told that we were leaving an hour later so they wouldn’t get to use it for a few days.

One single cool, peaceful, quiet, clean, comfortable family Christmas at our home with our kids.

...and this year, I’d like nothing more than to pack up my darling husband, kids, a week’s worth of food, clean towels, bedding and presents and spend 6 hours on the highway in order to have a corned meat sandwich in 40 degree heat in a dusty, fly-ridden, snake-infested house with a bunch of crazy, argumentative in-laws.

Just so long as we ALL got to be there....

True story.

Bittersweet Christmas

I got up this morning with one important task to accomplish, decorate the front of the house with holiday lights. I've notice the number of houses in the neighborhood slowly being lit up with beautiful lights of every color. My daughter has been asking when we would show our holiday spirit by lighting up our house as well.

As I don't do anything small scale, I ventured out to find all the newest, and latest, house lights on the market. I found a nice supply at a local big box store, then came right home to get started. After setting up all the cool things I had purchased I decided that I needed more. I decided I would head across town to a department store where they would likely have something different for me to choose from. After finding just what I was looking for I decided I should use the opportunity to buy some gift wrap, stocking stuffers and a couple of new stockings for the two new people in our lives. I grabbed one for my daughter's boyfriend, then another for my own new love.

The store was filled with shoppers. The shelves were stocked high with bright holiday items, and there was the continuous sound of beautiful holiday music. As I pushed my cart down the isle I could feel the earth beneath me sinking. No the ground was not actually sinking, but my heart was becoming so heavy that it felt like my whole being was caught in some kind of quick sand. Within a minute or two I was fighting off the crowd, trying with all my might to get to the damn cashier. I felt like I could barely breath, and then it happened.

Tears.

Why does it still hurt so bad? It's been over two years since he left. It's been three years since he was here to celebrate Christmas with me. It was four years ago that we celebrated Michael's "perfect Christmas." He knew that he was dying, and he didn't know if it would be his last, so he wanted to have the perfect old fashioned Christmas he never had as a child. We did it up wonderfully. It was just that, perfect. The following year he was still around. That year he called it his "bonus Christmas." He wasn't doing as well by then, so our celebration was much quieter, and modest.

In the year that followed we had a white stocking that hung in the front room. Throughout the days leading to Christmas the kids and I filled it with hand written memories and some of his favorite treats. Last year was a bit easier, as I was busy moving into a new house, and didn't take much notice of the holiday until the last minute.

This year there is someone new. I think I will call it my "bittersweet Christmas." I've noticed a phenomena that occurs throughout my week. The days that my new love, Abel, is around I am at peace. I feel loved, and I feel quite content. The days that he is away I feel Michael's absence. I remember his love, my heart feels heavy, and I feel sad. I know that in time I will be able to better blend the love I feel from, and for, both of these two beautiful men. In fact last night I had a dream, and in my dream both Abel and Michael were one being. I remember being with the him they became, and feeling both loved and confused. I know that I continue to struggle with the emotions of my heart. I continue to seek a better understanding of who I am. Michael's husband, Abel's boyfriend, a widower, someones lover.

Bittersweet.

My life has become bittersweet.