On Christmas Eve

On Christmas eve I sit alone at the back of a church. Presents are wrapped, cooking is done, stockings are waiting. I could feel sorry for myself. It is December after all.  My son is still dead. I have spent most of the day by myself. 

Next to me sits a little old lady with her ginormous hand bag and her perfectly coiffed hair. She leans over close like she is going to tell me a secret. I lean in to meet her. She doesn't whisper, but says it right out loud "You know, I think I miss people." 

As we wait for the clock to tick over to seven o'clock and the minister to come to the pulpit, she shares more. Roy died 12 years ago from cancer and she has been on her own since. Her son lives across the street but he is busy with his family. She has a daughter,  but the daughter has no family. They had their Christmas together yesterday. She has a beautiful 12 year old great grand daughter that she doesn't get to see, but she keeps her mouth shut and doesn't make waves. The doctor has been bugging her to get out more, but she just doesn't have it in her, since Roy died. She's 88, she tells me and there are so many things she still wants to do, but her body doesn't cooperate anymore. And that makes her mad. 

The service starts, Christmas hymns and Bible readings. I watch her surreptitiously take her teeth out and wrap them in a tissue before she tucks them safely in her hand bag. Minister Katie is in her early 30s and has a toddler I've been told. It was Katie that picked up my elderly pew mate and brought her to church. 

I let the familiar Bible passages wash over me. Mary and Joseph. A baby wrapped in cloths and placed in a manager. Shepherds and wise men. Gifts of gold, myrrh and frankincense. I sing along. Hark, the herald angels sing. Joy to the world. Silent night,  holy night. And all the while my brain is churning with numbers. When I am 88, my son will be 66, my daughter will be 54. When I am 88, my new grand baby will be 39. I expect he will have children on his own. I could be a great grandmother. 

I can't even fathom 88. Will I be alone and missing people? Right now there are so many demands pulling at me. Presents to buy and wrap. Meals to prep. Traditions to uphold. My house is full of people and pets.  I long to have a little bit of down time. When the nest is empty and the chicks have flown, will I miss the busy? Will I long for voices? Will someone bring me to church so I can chatter with a stranger? 

From young Katie with her little one, to my new, very old friend, with her great grandchildren, I sit somewhere in between. I think about Mary, young,  with her precious baby, and then older with a deceased son, and then finally aged and alone. We are in good company, Katie, myself and my new old friend. And in a candle lit church with some seriously off key voices, I find I am grateful this year. 

Grateful for my living children. Grateful for a new grandbaby. Grateful for dogs and cats and guinea pigs. Grateful for the workout that started my day. Grateful for a fridge full of food prepped for Christmas. Grateful for heat and running water and the wonders of technology that keep us connected to those we love. Grateful for a car that runs. Grateful for arguments and laughter. Grateful for the boy that I miss so much and the friend that eats cake with me on his death day. 

On Christmas eve I sit at the back of the church. I am not alone and I am grateful. 

Grief is a Quiet Gentle Thing

Grief is a quiet, gentle thing this year. It flutters and flaps around inside my head like a bird trapped in a house, beating its wings against the windows, trying to escape.  I feel it. 

My eyes leak for no reason. Of course the reason is that my boy is dead. Dead but not gone, held forever close in my heart. 

I feel him near. I talk to him. He has not left. 

At first I counted Mondays. One week without him, then two, three four. After a while I began to count months without him, checking them off every time the 18th rolled around. One month, then two, three, four. Now I count in years. 

The birthday song plays in my head. Are you one? Are you two? Are you three? I stop at six. Six birthdays without him. Six years gone.

 Today we celebrate his 29th birthday. My boy would be growing up, if he were here. I have planned a whole birthday party for him. I think he would be delighted. 

I wake, excited to make his cake. He's going to love it. Four layers I think, red velvet with fluffy white frosting. I bought Toaster Studels for breakfast. I'll eat them with him today. This evening we'll take him out for dinner. I made sure his brother took the day off. Later we will try to escape THE DRAGON'S CAVE! (dun, dun, dun) He always loved dragons

A part of me feels like maybe I've finally tipped over the edge and lost my grip on sanity. I have planned a day of fun events for a boy who is dead. I bought his favourite breakfast. I will make his cake. Wherever he is, does he know? Does he appreciate it? Does he feel loved? Is it possible I am trying to make up for the ways I failed him in life? Does he forgive me? Or have I just gone crazy with a gentle quiet grief?

Either way, it is where I am today. The trapped bird that is my grief throws itself at the windows in my mind. Sometimes I want to scream. Sometimes I want to hide under my desk at work. Sometimes I want to hurl abuse at people who tell me to enjoy my days off. Don't they understand?  I know they don't, they don't even know he once existed. 

Wait! There are people in the world, in my world, that have never heard Zac's name. I want to scream it from the rooftops. ZAC! My first born son, my boy, my buddy. He took a part of my heart with him when he died. But the world keeps turning and my life keeps moving and new people come who have no idea that my heart is broken. That feels deeply wrong. Like I have failed him. Perhaps I need my own scarlet letter, something to brand me as the woman who lost a child.  Would people ask me about him? Or would they turn away to avoid my grief? 

Anyways, the screaming in my head continues.  I don't curl up under my desk. And when my eyes leak for no reason clients are kind enough to suggest the maybe I have allergies. Yes, that must be it. I get out of bed. I do my job. Today I will make cake. Life goes on, but not without him. He is held close. I wear his angel wings on a necklace around my neck. I do not forget. 

Today I celebrate the boy who made me a mom.