Wednesday – The First Christmas After

[ninanevermore]

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The first Christmas after your mother dies of breast cancer is not the worst one, believe it or not. At least, it wasn't for my family. My mother died October 6, 1984, when I was 15 years old. By the time the holidays rolled around, we had settled into the routine of grief rather comfortably, or at least as comfortable as you can be with a jagged hole cut into the fabric of your reality. The feelings of a bad dream we couldn't wake up from had evolved into a sad existence we were determined to muddle through. More than two months after the funeral, we were still talking about my mother in the present tense, and we felt obliged to make it a good Christmas because we knew she wanted us to.

The second year after your mother dies is much worse. And then the third, forth, and fifth years. The first year is all right, because the state of shock works like Novocain. When the shock wears off and the nerves around your broken heart start to come to life again, things get a little more difficult.

That first year, my father and my younger brother and I all decorated the tree together, for Mom's sake. She would have hated for us to miss Christmas just because she wouldn't be there to enjoy it with us. We managed to throw together a Christmas dinner, complete with Turkey and all the trimmings except for the candies yams. None of us had ever cooked a turkey before, and we were impressed that we managed to do it and that is wasn't half bad. The candied yams were attempted but discarded uneaten because they were a disaster. It would be at least 3 years before I figured out how to make them. I couldn't find a recipe, so I had to figure it out on my own. The problem was that I didn't know they were called candied yams and kept looking for a recipe for yams with marshmallows on top, only to come up empty.

The first Christmas was a sad sort of wonderful, because we worked so hard at it. We clung to each other that first year. We needed each other. We laughed and congratulated ourselves for pulling it off. I have fond memories of that first Christmas after. We felt alive that Christmas day. We made a point to manage. It made all the difference.

I can't believe how the years have flown by. I have my own house and my own family to celebrate Christmas with now. Last weekend when I picked up my son from my father's house after I finished my last minute Christmas shopping, I felt a strange, familiar ache in my heart when my father's wife hugged my son and told him that she loved him.

She's not his grandmother, you see. And yet she is. If she loves him and he calls her grandmother, then I have to accept that. My mother never saw my son, and she will never hug him. As far as he knows, his grandfather's wife is his grandmother and has always been his grandfather's wife. In spite of the little ache, this is okay. As the years pass I've come to realize that Christmas tears are as valid, and as valuable, as Christmas laughter. Part of living is loving. Part of loving is losing. Part of losing is the realization that life goes on. As it does, we learn to pick ourselves up, brush ourselves off, and muddle through. We manage to make do, and to make merry, and to take our peace where we can find it.


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Comments

[adamantplatypus.livejournal.com]

I don't know. My mom's been gone since 2001, and I think they get increasingly worse as time goes on and I become more of an adult and experience more things I need her guidance and wisdom for.

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

They will start to get better. From my experience, it only takes about 20 years or so. *hugs*

[callmekili.livejournal.com]

wow... only 20 years, eh....

well... two christmases down, only 18 to go....

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

It just takes time, and every person is different. After awhile, the loss becomes a part of you, and no longer seems like an intrusion. You reach a point where you can remember the good times without them being a reminder of the pain. The bitterness become bittersweet, and life moves on.

You'll be okay, I promise. :)

life goes on

[regatomic.livejournal.com]

and like walking through the snow, it leaves a path from whence you came,..o.o

Re: life goes on

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

That is does. Or at least, I think. I don't know much about snow. It's 70 degrees and raining where I am...

[coupesetique.livejournal.com]

Part of living is loving. Part of loving is losing. Part of losing is the realization that life goes on. As it does, we learn to pick ourselves up, brush ourselves off, and muddle through. We manage to make do, and to make merry, and to take our peace where we can find it.

I'm going to quote you on this because that's basically it. You nailed it.

Last Christmas tree I ever decorated was the tree for my mom's last Christmas alive. We didn't come together as a complete family for Christmas again, and life went on. Now I spend the holidays with my husband and family of friends. :-)

Happy holidays to you and yours, Nina. :-)

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

Happy holidays to you and your's, as well. :)

[lil-ms-drama.livejournal.com]

Great. Now I have more s**t to worry about for next Christmas. Just what I needed.

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

Oh, hon, I didn't mean it that way. Your boat with your mother is different than my boat with my mother. I was a child, you are a grown woman. My mother was a hero me, your relationship with your mother was more complicated (for lack of a better term).

I'm grieving who my mother was; you are grieving not only who your mom was, but who you wished she could have been to you. This is your first Christmas without her in the world, but hardly your first Christmas without her. I think your road will be a lot different than mine.

I've had 24 years to grow this philosophical. You will find your peace and grace in time. Merry Christmas. :)

[martina-d.livejournal.com]

Being new to your journal, I didn't know about your Mom. But I feel for you; my Dad has been gone 14 years, and each year, the holidays are tough. He died before I got married or had kids, and it hurts me for him, knowing how much he missed. I hope you do have a good Christmas, and that the memories of your Mom enhance it for you and make you happy. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. =)

[woohag.livejournal.com]

My sister was always my grandmother's favorite (everyone knew), and so when she died just months before my sister got pregnant, it was very sad that she would never know the joy of her grandson...and now, granddaughter.

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

This sadness lies beneath the surface, and only comes up when something scratches it. Just before writing this, I'd read a post from a man who had just lost his wife to breast cancer. When I looked at his wife's journal and profile, I saw a person I would have loved to have known, if only I hadn't just found her the day after she died. It was kind of a deep scratch, and it brought up a lot of memories. That they (the couple also has two sons) lost her just before Christmas made it all the more sad.

Christmas so far (it's also half over as I type this, and my help is being summoned in the kitchen) has been wonderful. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you, too!

[woohag.livejournal.com]

Beautifully written, if not a very sad sentiment. Hugs to you at this time. :)

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

Hugs back to you. The bittersweet sadness does not detract from my joy, believe it or not. It's become a part of who I am. I think it would be far sadder to forget what I have lost, and the shadow of these memories bring a depth to my experiences that I wouldn't change. :)

[artkouros.livejournal.com]

My mom died when I was 23, six weeks before Christmas.

It dawned on me a few years ago that my step-mom has been my mom longer than my mom had been.

Anyway, Merry Christmas!

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

Merry Christmas1

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

I meant, of course, "Merry Christmas!" Stupid shift key.

[es-skwared.livejournal.com]

Christmas isn't something my family celebrates -- we're Muslim. However this time of year -- we'd spend it together because everyone had days off. My grandmother passed away on Nov. 23rd and I've been lost since then.

My sister got married this past weekend and the entire family band together to make it the most festive and happy occasion. So I understand what you're saying. I'm feeling it right now.

Thank you for sharing. I'm sending you hugs for you and hugs because I need them myself.

peace

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

Peace to you, also. I'm sorry for your loss, and happy for the comfort you've been able to find in each other. *hugs in return*

[skipperja.livejournal.com]

In spite of the sorrow, you were able to write a nice little family Christmas newsletter that really cheered me. Thank you!

The sorrow just trails along sort of like a shadow.

In my old age I had the sudden realization that I was crying for my father's death about 50 years after he had died, but I cried for my mother's death about 50 years BEFORE she died.

Sorrow is a strange thing. But best wishes for a Happy New Year!

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

At least I know most of the Texas people on my card list got their cards on Christmas Eve. Glad you enjoyed the letter, and you can enjoy the parrot for years to come, long after you tire of the newsletter. ;)

Love is like a diamond with many facets. When you look at it, some facets are joy and reflect light. These facets in the shadows are the sorrow, but they are still another side of the same diamond. As I get older, I can see the beauty in this, but I confess it's taken a long time for me appreciate it.

Happy New Year to you, too!

[tribal-woman.livejournal.com]

This also applies to the subsequent Christmas after your father has passed too. This year the family has been...different.

I'm grateful to have my mother for as long as we can, but the greedy child in me would still rather both.

[neanahe.livejournal.com]

There is a greedy child in each of us, I think.

[jenelycam.livejournal.com]

*HUGS* It's funny Greg's dad's wife is more "grandmother" to my kids than his actual mom...