Christmas

Christmas was hard but we survived.

In the first weeks after we lost Sam, Mark's and my mantra each day was "we will survive today together." Each morning one of us would repeat this phrase and together we would climb out of bed and face another day. After a little while we didn't need to say it out loud. Just a shared look was enough.

On Christmas I needed to hear these words. On Christmas surviving seemed harder. And not just surviving but facing what is generally the "happiest" day for so many. Together, Mark and I made it out of bed and took the dogs on a long, hilly walk. I didn't even let myself think of what that morning should have been. We just walked and walked. Later in the afternoon we went to a movie. It seemed like a a good idea to escape into a world that wasn't even remotely ours.

We ended the day with Mark's brother, his wife, and their precious daughter. As we drove to their house it was the first time since climbing from bed that morning that I was unable to block the pain. I finally was facing the reality that forever my holidays were going to be spent without Sam.

I am never going to see him open presents, eat too many cookies, cry in the lap of a stranger wearing a red suit and white beard. He is never going to wake me long before the sun will come up because he hears reindeer hooves on the roof. I am never going to take him to the holiday train display or the festival of lights. We will never cuddle under a blanket next to the tree reading Christmas stories and drinking coco.
Accepting this reality is crushing.

But in all of this pain my brother-in-law and sister-in-law gave Mark and me a truly touching gift. To honor Sam they made a donation to help provide toys to needy children. While it doesn't take away my grief and longing for my little boy, I love knowing that his memory is helping to bring happiness to another little child that otherwise may not have known the magic and joy that this day is supposed to bring to the hearts of children.