I think I’m ready. I love my friends. I want to spend time with them. And so I accept the invitation for Christmas dinner with my dear friend and her family. Dinner will be served at 3:00, so I arrive at 2:30.
Oops, I didn’t get the update that dinner is now scheduled for 5:00, but that’s ok. I’m welcomed with open arms.
This is the fourth Christmas that I’ve not put up a tree or decorated the house. I have only been shopping one time, and I’m okay with that. My heart just isn’t in the traditional family gift giving anymore. No doubt, the reason for that is because I don’t have a list for Sawyer with “Mommy, this is my Christmas list. Love, Sawyer.” Now, Sawyer was nineteen years old and called me mom, EXCEPT when he wanted something. “Mommy,” melted my heart, and he knew it. “Mommy” persuaded me to buy too many presents at Christmas, take way too many trips to Taco Bell, and even occasionally pay his rent. I miss those times when he could rely on me, and he went about it with such tender affection.
Brian died on the 15th of December,11 years ago of a heroin overdose. Heaven heard my scream of agony that morning. A week later the tsunami of 2004 hit Indonesia. Seeing a photo of a woman lying prostrate on the beach in anguish over her loss, I knew and shared her grief. It was palpable. The world became a very small place.
This article was originally published in www.opentohope.com on Dec. 3, 2008, a website whose mission is to help those who have suffered a loss to cope with their pain and invest in the future.
Four months after our youngest son, Clint, died, we were faced with our first Christmas without him. We didn’t know how to deal with the holidays. Individually, our pain was so great; we barely spoke of it with each other. We didn’t know how to include Clint in our plans, yet we couldn’t bear to face a holiday without him. It wasn’t right to be making preparations that didn’t include our son. Where was his shopping list? He had always enjoyed making a wish list. There was a huge void in our hearts and in our home.