It's a hard Christmas!

This holiday season is hard. I thought real progress was being made this year. I finally decorated, which is a big step. (My mom and I shopped together for all my Christmas decorations the first year I was in my house, so many memories are attached to everything.) Also, her birthday falls on the 20th. I thought I was getting through things okay, but then last night, on Christmas Day, it hit me like a ton of bricks on the drive home from my dad's. My poor husband had to hold me as I cried for about an hour, before I fell asleep. I think it was the anticipation of one of the gifts I got from my brother. He started transferring home movies to DVD's for us and we received the first disc yesterday. I knew I had been longing to hear my mom's voice. I hadn't heard it for years and now the opportunity was laying before me. Sometimes you think you forget what they sound like, but then it's also so familiar. Also, there's the body movement and oh, how we can take this for granted. I have stared at pictures of my mom, but there is just something about seeing a smile in action...seeing what provokes it and the laughter that comes with it.

This year, I guess I am a little more sensitive because Skye and I have such big news. We are expecting a baby and during this time, when I am so excited, it is also so bittersweet. My mom isn't here to share in the excitement and to hold my hand through this process. When my mom was in hospice, I actually knew that this day would come. I actually tried preparing myself for this by buying some baby books and traced her hand on the inside. Somehow, that made me feel like she would some day, some how, be a part of things. She had no idea, what I was doing when I was penciling around her fragile hands due to all the pain killers she was on her final days. People ask me if I want a boy or a girl. In the long run, it doesn't matter. I think right now, though, my heart yearns for a girl. I think mostly because I want to carry on the mother daughter relationship somehow, since I can't do it with her. I want to show a daughter all the loving the things my mom did for me...dance lessons, gymnastics, shopping, lunches and just those girl talks. But like I said, a boy would be fine too. Gigi (as mom wanted to be called) would be so excited with the news too and would not want me to be sad. I tell myself that everyday, but it still is sad, I'm not going to lie.

Bah-Humbug?

You know what is hard about the holidays? It is when everyone in your family is in a different stage of the grieving process. Last year was the first Christmas without my mom. As a family, we decided to avoid the holidays and took a big ski trip to get away. We even thought it was a good thing that we left on Christmas Eve. That way the focus is on getting to our destination, rather than all the old traditions back home. This year, it's a baby step. We are in town.

There are so many questions about the first Christmas at home without a loved one. Do you put up the tree? Do you go to Christmas Eve service at the old family church, minus one? Do you sit around the dining table; the one that your mom used to set with perfection or do you eat in the kitchen and do a less formal meal? How do you make your dad's new girlfriend feel a part of the day, but not feel like you are betraying your mom memory, just yet? Unfortunately, being the only daughter in the family, those men look to you for the answers. How does this help, when you feel like you are the one that is running in last place in the grief race? It also doesn't help that the biggest trait you got from you mom is the role of "People Pleaser." I have been vocal in what I want this Christmas, but every time I say it, my family doesn't reply back with "Whatever you need to get through." You just get the male "hmmm" response. Does this make it easier to celebrate the holidays? Heck no! It just makes me want to avoid it all together.

Now, if you knew my mom, she was the one that loved decorating for holidays. She had the Christmas dishes, two trees, garland everywhere, wreathes, lights, figurines and more. But all those things were in such good taste (meaning it wasn't tacky, it just flowed throughout the house very subtly.) When someone says it's just stuff....I want to, and have, screamed at them "It's not just stuff! Who do you think has all the memories of shopping with her for all that stuff? Who do you think had to sit with her and confirm her decision to buy it all?" That's right, me. So, don't tell me it's just stuff.

One of the reasons I decided to partake in family Christmas this year is because it will probably be the last Christmas in this house. My dad retires next spring and talks about moving, so we won't even have that house to visit next year. So, forgive me for wanting to have one last shot at savoring my mom and celebrate Christmas "Mary" style. So, wish me luck next week. I think I am going to need it.

The post-it note

There is a post-it note that clings to my kitchen cabinet that becomes only relevant to people this time of year. Two years ago, I was celebrating my first Christmas in my new house with my new husband. Mom and I were eager to put the holiday "party dress" on the place. This included ornaments for the tree, new and old. Yes, in order to help make the tree look fuller, you go through the detachment process of her transferring all your old kid ornaments over to your new house. "They are yours now. You don't live here (her house) anymore."

Well, this also causes a problem at her house. Her tree starts to look bare. So, that Christmas I bought her a new ornament. I had left it for her, so I never actually got to see her face as she opened it when she stopped by that day. So, to make this story come full circle, she left me a post-it note in my kitchen. "Thanks for the ornament. -Love Mom." A month later, she was diagnosed with cancer. We didn't know this would be our last Christmas together.

Now to some people this probably appears crazy, but it's not. (At least I tell myself that.) I've seen people, in the middle of summer, walk into my house and give it the curious eye, afraid to ask what it's about. They don't understand. I remember when I was in grade school, she would pack me special lunches sometimes. Mom would secretly sneak in an encouraging note telling me to have a good day and that she loved me. I would keep that note and place it on my desk as a reminder all day. This post-it note is like that. It somehow keeps her alive and makes her real and it means more to me than anything I own. It's her handwriting. It's her kind words. I am not sure what will happen when the stickiness fades off the back and it falls. It may make me stronger in my grieving process and help me move on, or I face the consequences of resorting to a certain sadness. Friends have tried to encourage me to put up the Christmas tree this year. I just can't do it. It's too painful. Who knows, maybe I will next year. But for now the post-it note is my holiday party dress.