Hurt

Grief is not an ebb and flow of good an bad these days. Instead, it is a river. Raging, roaring towards some unseen destination I cannot fathom. Pulling me in its grip in the direction it wants me to go regardless of where I would choose to send it. I am seized in a torrent of white water rapids and I'm spinning, smashing and pounding into boulders of remembrance at every turn. If only I could have a moment of calm to collect my thoughts I think I would be better able to know what to do, but I am unable to slow the thoughts and memories in my mind long enough to make rhyme or reason from them. The desire to breath calm revitalizing air is overwhelming, but instead there are droplets of pain splashing into my face and lungs, the mix of air versus grief getting thicker and more difficult to process into usable life. I can't see what's coming ahead, can only hear the increasing sounds of chaos and I picture a drop over an emotional waterfall at the end of the line. I'm terrified if I don't find a way to reach calm waters before I get there it will plunge me under the surface of life, taking me so deep into my mind and memories and sorrows there will be no hope of resurfacing.

As time passes I am beginning to feel so distant from Josh. I don't feel his presence around me like I did in the beginning. It's debilitating to think he's ....just, well.... gone. I spend my days seeking some tangible place, time or object which will make me feel reconnected with him but it seems the harder I grasp to reach him the farther away he is. The world is moving on without him. I know I'm supposed to also, but I feel unable to move on with it.

I'm hanging all my hopes on the passing of the holidays. I know there is not ever going to be a time when I'm alright, when it's "over", but perhaps it will be less consuming without constantly gagging on Christmas and cheer being shoved down my throat 24/7.

I haven't decorated or even set up the tree. We say we want to do it different this year, and yet it feels like we're shutting him out. There is no balance. We can't make it the same and we can't make it different and the damn day is coming either way. At this point it's pretty much a given it will be different, and not just because he's not here. There have been no gifts purchased, and I don't care. I can't do it. How do I not shop for him? Do I hang his stocking? How can I not? But then how can I leave it empty? How do we have tree decorating night without him? Do we set his Santa mug to the side or just not get it out? The questions without answers go on and on. I know with time I will have to come up with solutions and alternate plans. But not this year.

I sleep too much, I cry too much, I ache from head to toe. I'm forgetful and scatter brained. I'm avoidant and reclusive. I'm a shadow. Grief is exacting it's toll and the price is too steep to pay both grief and life.

I hurt.

Breaking Tradition

Traditions are hard to break. When I started having children, I automatically started traditions. I started doing things I would feel the need to continue, without first giving thought to whether or not they were good traditions or force of habit left over from my own childhood.

For years, I've struggled with the commercialism of Christmas. Every year our family would discuss not participating in the whole traditional Christmas routine, and every year we would cave. In the past, there has always been some reason to follow through rather than let someone down or deal with the never ending questions. This year though, no matter how much I would like the option of having our old fashioned Christmas, it's not going to happen. Rather than swim upstream against the currents of change, I've decided to go with the flow.

It will be different this year. New traditions will be created. Only time will tell whether it's for the better or the worse, but never again will I allow myself to get locked in by habit simply because it's a comfort zone. (that has become increasingly uncomfortable)

Truthfully, Josh made the decision for me, but that's fitting since he has always been my impetus for change. I can't even begin to recall all the times in my life I've been motivated to be a better person in order to make his life better or make him proud of me. Knowing how much he despised what Christmas has become gives me permission to do it different this year. Even if it's by using the shadow of his death to do so. I know he wouldn't mind and would approve of our decision.

Come Christmas day, I will gather my family together and we will take time to remember why we love each other. We will spend time, expend thought, and share love. There will be no gifts that are pricey and could have (even potentially)cost someone their life at Wal-mart or any other store. If gifts are exchanged at all, they will be handmade or second hand. If I need proof of this being the right decision, I will wrap the scarf Josh hand wove for me several Christmases ago tighter around my neck and remember how much I treasure it. (Yet, I can't remember what he bought for me last year.)

At the end of the day, I want to be able to mourn the loss of my son secure in the knowledge I've found a way to create good from his life. It's the only gift I can give him.