Original date 25 December 2011
The day Brian 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 couch alone watching my sister's kids open gifts that
only I chose, purchased, wrapped, and stowed under their 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
Brian 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 forever more.
What I know now is that the
pain of missing Brian hasn't lessened. In fact, because the pain is part
of my everyday life I have stopped watching it with a wary eye.
Even
so, occasionly 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 this Christmas I find myself briefly visiting
in my mind's eye the me who sat alone on the couch that Christmas
morning in 2010, 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 tell my Christmas 2010 self some of the things I've learned over this past year.
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. Brian 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 Brian by living. He would want that
and deep down you know it. You will never be the same after losing Brian. Someday you will value this fact. As the tears stream down your face many times today, know this: You can survive Brian's death. You already have.
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. One day you will value the tears you
cry today. They are streams of love.
Merry Christmas, Brian.
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