What is it, seriously?
Is it sharing the bounty of the season with those less fortunate, a la Scrooge?
Is it the anticipation of waiting for Christmas morning, so you can open all of the “loot” (my husband’s word for gifts)?
Is it the wonder of seeing the sparkling lights on the tree or decorated houses?
Is it the fun and joy of having family together, of recalling old memories and making new ones?
Well, I suppose it’s all of those things and more. I used to get alot more excited by Christmas. Even after I had kids, I wanted to make it as great for them as I remembered my childhood Christmases. I think my excitement about Christmas has become dulled since 2000, when Sullivan was hospitalized.
It truly was a Blessed Christmas in many ways. We found more joy in small things, we found more hope and compassion in strangers, and we found more love from family and friends than we knew existed. Still, the realization that our newborn baby was in the PICU, fighting for his life, dampened the excitement.
And today, the memories of those days in 2000 continue to make the holidays less than magical for me. The Christmas season, and even New Year’s afterwards, continue the months’ long time of anniversaries for me. Not good anniversaries, although there are surely some good things happening between October and New Year’s. There are birthdays and wedding anniversaries that we celebrate for those that are still with us. There seem to be far more days of sadness to remember in that time though: October 1st (the day Sullivan died), November 7th (Sullivan’s birthday), December 14th (the day Sullivan had his near-miss SIDS incident).
There aren’t actually more days of mourning in that time. There are more birthdays and holidays and days that we should be smiling and enjoying ourselves. But it’s the ANTICIPATION of these days of sad memories, it’s the way they dredge up all of the hardest emotions. It’s the way all of these feelings simmer in my head, combined with the way the sunlight is fading with winter’s approach; it’s the way even the good holidays are tainted by how we celebrated during Sullivan’s life and how the celebrations feel so empty without our second child here with us to enjoy them.
When we had Sullivan, we looked forward to the joy of raising two kids so close in age. We wanted it that way. They were two years and two weeks apart, on the dot. And Jillian loved having a baby brother. We were joyful and thankful for our baby son.
Now, we have two children to raise. They are five years apart. Instead of having a beautiful daughter and two mischevious sons, our family portrait (if we were to take one) would be missing one child. We can never take a family picture with our whole family. Every time we do take one, we look at it and wonder where Sullivan would be. Every time we have friends born around the same time he was born, we wonder where he would be developmentally, or how tall he might be, or who his friends might be. If he were still alive.
And so it is at the holidays. When we sit down to open gifts in the morning, I think of how much more chaotic and … joyful … it would be if we had all three of our children with us to celebrate. And when we see family newsletters come in, and no one ever says a word about our Sullivan anymore….to the family, I’m not a mother of three. I’m a mother of two. I have two children, not three, when they introduce me to friends. And somehow it seems like they’ve forgotten our Sullivan, although I know that is not their intent.
So, the holidays have lost their glamour. I go through the motions to meet my children’s expectations. I go through the motions to please my family. Really, though, the holidays just make me realize again that I have a great gaping, bleeding hole in my life and my heart and I fear it will never heal.
