December 16, 2010 is a date forever seared on my brain. It's the day I posted this onto Facebook:
"I don't even want to write these words, as they are a mother's worst
nightmare. We found a very large tumor in Jacob's abdomen today and the
doctor is pretty sure it is a Wilms
tumor or something very similar...which in a nutshell is kidney cancer.
He has a CT scan tomorrow morning. Please, please pray for him...I don't
want my little boy to have to go through this."
It's the day that everything changed.
I think that may be one reason (upon many) that December is such a hard month for me. I relive this day over and over again.
I'm not looking for sympathy. I'm not having pity parties for myself. Grief is neither of those. It never ends. There is no time limit to it. I will, forever and ever, until I am with Jacob again, miss him.
I am a bereaved mother. My husband is a bereaved father. My children are missing their brother. That will never change.
It gets old for the people around me, I'm sure. December is supposed to be a happy time. You know, the most wonderful time of the year and all that. Which is exactly one of the reasons that it is the hardest time of the year for those missing someone.
My Grandma used to want to spend Christmas Eve alone. I didn't understand it growing up, as Christmas Eve to my family was gathering together and was more special to me than Christmas Day. Now I understand. Even 5, 10, 15, 20+ years after becoming a widow, she wanted that night to herself. Her ritual was little treats that she saved throughout the year and probably a glass of wine. A darkened room, lit only by the flicker of a candle or the lights on the Christmas tree. A night that used to be filled with her husband, family, and rituals now became a night reserved for memories of those times. I get that so much now.
Five years ago today our world was turned upside down. It can never be the same again. That is the price of love and loss.