A few hours from now, the calendar turns to 2020 and the single worst year of my life will finally draw to a close. You’d think I’d be relieved, and I am. Yet, in some ways, I’m afraid to see it end.
You see, once the New Year’s ball drops, Christopher will have died “last year.” That sounds like last century to me and puts more distance than ever between the last time I saw him and the current time on my watch.
I’ve lived every day in the hope that Christopher will come back to me. Imagining this has all been one long literal nightmare that I’ll wake up from if someone shakes me hard enough.
But now it’s been a year. A traditional milestone that marks the passing of time. We celebrate birthdays, anniversaries, graduation to the next school grade, workaversaries, and dozens of other traditions at the one-year mark. It’s exciting!
“Another year older!”
“You’re in fifth grade now!”
“You’ve had the corner office for a year!”
Unless, of course, a year marks the time since a bad thing happened. Breakups, divorce, hurricanes, loss of a pet.
“She left you a year ago. Get over it.”
“That storm was 12 months ago and nothing’s been rebuilt.”
“Buster’s been gone a year. Get a new dog.”
Saying Christopher died “last year” or “a year ago” implies it’s ancient history. That I’ve nearly completed a full cycle of grieving and I’m good now. Naw. That’s not how this works.
The first year has been all about learning how to live life as a mother who lost her child. You have to learn from exposure, not by reading about it in a book, because every mother’s experience is different.
Whether you want to or not, you find out about things like:
- Seemingly innocuous holidays that may knock you off your feet. Halloween.
- New TV shows or movies you can’t watch without having them vetted first for landmines. Knives Out? No clue.
- Favorite movies you can never watch again. Jesus Christ Superstar.
- Closets in your house you can’t open because they contain your child’s possessions or gifts he died before you could give him. My office.
- Foods you never want in your fridge again. Almond milk.
- Songs that make you hyperventilate on the spot. Moonlight Sonata.
- Locations that make you want to retch. A building in Tampa I’ll probably never set foot in again.
That’s just a few off the top of my head. There are so many more things to learn each day that first year. It’s like the worst boot camp imaginable but you can’t tap out.
I think I’ve lost the thread here somewhat. The point is, I don’t want to say Christopher took his life “last year” because I’m not done dealing with this year yet. I’m nowhere near as okay as I expected myself to be and, perhaps wrongly, perceive others expect me to be.
However, like Christopher himself, I have to let 2019 go. I want to and need to, but I feel like I’m not ready to take the next step into the month of January. After all, that’s really when the shit hit the fan.
So, I guess it pretty much boils down to fear. I’ve hated 2019 but learned to live with it. 2020 is not going to start pretty and I’m just afraid of what lies ahead. There’s nothing to be done for it, though. I’ll get through it because I have no choice.
Dammit, though. I’m tired.