I'm tempted to characterize going through the Holidays after the death of a child with Dickens' opening lines in a Tale of Two Cities, "It was the best of times. It was the worst of times."
I love feeling the Christmas spirit. I love how everyone seems to smile easier. I really love hearing Nancy laugh. It's fun to watch Jon, Alyshia and Natalie get their little families ready for Christmas. Aaron and Sadie are very much into the season. The Best of times.
Then come the memories when you hang the stockings of two who will never again sit around the Christmas tree. All those tree ornaments that they made in school.
The joys of Christmas create strong memories that last the years. Who among us can't be teleported back to a particular Christmas, triggered by a smell, song or sight?
This weekend, Nancy, Sadie and I caught a matinee at the theater in the mall. We laughed so hard and were having such a good time. We stopped at Red Robin for lunch. After we ordered I was looking around.
All of a sudden, I was transported to a week before Josh died when he, Aaron and I went to a movie and then lunch at Red Robin. We knew Josh was going to die and we were getting in as much time together as possible and make some memories.
On the wall was a poster for Blues Brothers 2000. That was one of Josh's favorite movies (I would always skip past the dancing girls, thank you for being concerned). He loved the music and we would listen to the soundtrack CD over and over.
I was suddenly overcome. I just put my face in my hands and sobbed. I'm not sure that's ever happened in public before. Sadie climbed under the table and loved me. The Worst of times.
About a year ago, I received an e-mail from a fellow who had lost a child several years before. He said, "Don't let the loss define you." As I've thought about what that meant for me, I've broken it down:
There's no questioning that having a child die is a defining moment. It's every bit as monumental as having the child in the first place. I can't recall ever talking to a parent that didn't consider bringing a child into their family as defining. Plumbing the depths of your love and commitment, defining what kind of man or woman you want to be, defining the kind sacrifice you're willing to make. Every mature parent is fundamentally changed.
Burying a child forever changes you - deeply and profoundly. Those questions a new parent struggles to answer about his or herself need to be asked again: What kind of man do I want to be? Am I willing to love freely again? Will I engage life again?
What must not define you is your grief. And believe me, that's easier said than done. I read that when a parent loses a child, they lose so much of themselves (and their future) that they need to reinvent their lives. It's a kind of a "do over". If you're stuck in your grief, this will never happen.
For me at least, you can't really being the rebuilding until you've been down the road far enough to glimpse the possibility of a life (new or otherwise). The literature says that for many, that point comes after about two years. I can see that for me and my family. I can see getting better.
It's been nearly three years since Josh died and almost two since Ben died. That is a long time. Yet it feels like it was a few months ago.
I recently talked with a woman who lost two sons over 20 years ago. I watched as she traveled back across those years in an instant. She said that the pain is always as acute - it just comes less frequently and lingers for less time as the years go by. I can see that too.
So maybe I want to describe my feelings this Christmas in the terms of Monty Python and the Holy Grail - "I'm getting better!"
I think it's OK to feel that way, Saori, especially since it's been such a short time for you.
Next Christmas I predict three things:
1- You will still miss Ken deeply
2 - You will have more moments of pain-free joy
3-You will be able to focus on some of the other things that suck in your life
Our best to you and your family
Posted by: Lance Boldt | December 21, 2009 at 01:14 PM
But it's so hard. I think my life right now is definately defined by loss. I almost want to introduce myself as follows "I'm the one who lost the cutest kid and my life sucks!!"
But again, I'm grateful that someone like you show me the way. I'll try my best to be better me!
We love you guys.
Posted by: Saori | December 21, 2009 at 05:12 AM