42 plus 1

Today is December 17th, a day of no particular note, and I only mention it because it's been awhile since I wrote last.  Boy, this is a tough month.  I expected it to be, but wasn't sure what form the difficulties would take.  As I sit writing this, Bravo is airing Music Hall and Brian Adams is singing.  I'm going to have to switch the station.  Music still remains one of the biggest triggers for sadness.  Brian Adams music brings back memories of Michael as a boy.  I can't remember how old he would have been, perhaps 12 or so, but he loved  Adams music. 

Two weeks ago I didn't leave the house during the week.  I indulged myself and allowed a mental health day,  staying in my pajamas most of the day, keeping the drapes closed, the fireplace lit, TCM on all day and Michael's candle burning.  It all seems so unfair again.  I thought I'd made it through that part.  Looking up at his picture above the mantle, a picture taken on his wedding day six short years ago, I think "This can't possibly be real.  He will be home any day."  And I've said more than a few times the last few weeks, "What happened?  Why OUR boy?"  It is just so wrong. 

I'm not aware of feeling separate from other people's Christmas enthusiasm, and I HAVE attended services and the carol festival, but there is no joy.  There's just...well,  nothing really.  For our granddaughter's sake we decorated and baked.  We chopped down a small tree and set it up in the corner. Tonight is our little Christmas with her.  There can be no tears tonight.  I have to give myself a talking to over the next two hours. 

Last night we attended a service at our church, a service held each year to allow us to remember those we have lost.  It was a beautiful service, but when it came time to hang a decoration on the memory tree I felt like I might pass out.  I haven't felt like that since Michael's funeral.  Through my mind I could see the words "if you run now he'll come home"...just like you see pictures of planes pulling banners...that type written banner ran through my thoughts.  There were four ornaments hung for Michael last night, so I knew it was true.  He is no longer here with us in the way I want him to be.

Today I went into the room Michael had here in his last months.  I had been keeping the closet for gifts and after I moved them all into the car I stood for awhile running my hands over his shirt sleeves.  Shirts, still clean and ironed, ties neatly hung, dress pants separated from jeans, and on the floor, the slippers.  I thought for a second of getting into the closet and closing the door, just to be alone with my boy, but I knew I would start to cry and I need to make it through the day. 

My cousin gave me beautiful glass angels for every member of the family, to hang on our trees.  They are beautiful, but I don't want to have to HAVE an agnel hanging an angel on the tree for my boy.  I want him back.  I don't think I will ever EVER accept the loss of my son.  And I know it's because of the manner of his death.  I don't believe it will ever get easier.  I wonder if I've said that before.  Probably.  Frustration?  Anger?  Maybe a little of each.  Sadness, without a doubt.  But regret, REGRET, regret. 

I love my son today as much as I did the day he was born.  We are so blessed as parents to have been given the capacity to love so completely.  Parental love is so all-encompassing. 

So here we are, one day closer to Christmas day.  I just realized that last night marked 42 weeks since Michael's death.  Only 10 weeks left until it has been a year.  Where has the time gone.  How have we made it this far?  Some days it is hard to be strong. 

I am tired now.  We survived the gift giving with my granddaughter tonight.  She is such a beautiful, joy-filled child.  She is our gift.  Thank you Michael for your beautiful daughter.  Please stay close to us. We miss you very much.  Please remember that each and everything we do now, it done with your daughter's happiness and well-being in mind.  I know you will understand.