This time last year I was wrapping Christmas gifts for my three boys. This year I only shopped for two.
It really sucks to stand in the greeting card aisle at Walgreens last week, crying while trying to avoid looking at the card sitting directly at eye-level that would have been perfect for Christopher. What kind of Christmas cards do you get for your other kids in this situation? “Sorry your brother died, happy holidays?”
Crying in stores is par for the course right now. I’m basically a raw nerve, boo-hooing into Kleenex multiple times a day and powerless to stop it.
It’s not merely sadness over an empty chair at the dinner table during the holidays. It’s that I distinctly recall the days leading up to Christopher’s death and they begin right about now. Mid-December of last year, I found out that all three of my children would be with me together at Christmas for the first time in a very long time and I was ecstatic.
You see, my older sons live out of state. Due to the nature of their jobs, they aren’t automatically guaranteed time off over the holidays. This time, however, all three of my kids would be in Florida at the same time and would be coming to see me!
Any parent can tell you that having all your kids together when they’re spread around the country is the stuff dreams are made of. I was vibrating with excitement.
The day they were due to arrive, I got a call from one very upset Christopher. The other side of his family, which they were visiting first, changed plans at the last minute which made it impossible for the boys to come see me. (Yes, my older boys are adults with free will but crossing the person who changed their plans comes with unwelcome consequences.)
I calmed Christopher down and promised him we’d find another way for the four of us to be together again soon. After all, we had plenty more holiday opportunities in the future, right?
Less than six weeks later, Christopher was dead.
After we disconnected the call that day, I cried my eyes out. Of course, I had no idea what was in store for me in the coming weeks.
As we roll into the third week of December, I begin to recall exactly where I was and what I was doing just before the holiday last year. The gifts I picked out. The meals I planned. The disappointment.
Now is when I start to remember “the lasts” in earnest. The conversations we had after Christmas. The daily Snapchats to keep our streak going. The last time we went grocery shopping together. His birthday at the beginning of January.
And the last time I saw Christopher’s beautiful, precious face.
Last year, I ordered some Christmas presents that I knew he’d love and was planning a special gift for his 18th birthday. Last week, I ordered a notarized copy of his death certificate.
I know the pain won’t stop, I just wish the tears would.