It struck me when I woke up one morning this weekend that opting out of family holiday functions has been a protest to Cory's death entirely. Part of it has been avoidance to the task-it is damn hard work to be around a bunch of joyous people who can touch and hug their children at will. Underneath the fog of anxiety meds, I would gaze across the room at her empty chair, my eyes would fall on one of my nieces, nephews, or one of my sisters and I would feel the jealousy just swallow me up, covering any kind or decent part of me and turning me into somehow I'm not proud to be. I'd listen to the casual chatter and laughter, all the while trying my best to figure out how they got to be over there while I was over here in hell. Cue the guilt, with suicidal thoughts soon to follow. But underneath it all was the simple fact that I didn't want to acknowledge that she was really gone.
What I figured out pretty quickly was that if I didn't put myself at that table, eating dressing and faking small talk, I could ignore what was happening entirely. Denial, we meet again. And again. And just when I think we've parted ways forever...we might hit each other up just to see how the other has been. Hey, stranger. Long time, no see.
The longer I put off coming to or being full present (i.e. not bombed out of my mind on anxiety medication) at holiday events, the longer I could refuse to accept my new reality. It was more time that I could preserve the past as it was when Cory was here. And let me tell you, that felt markedly better than sitting there watching the happy families bantering away while my heart shriveled in my chest. I could be safe in my bed. If I took enough meds, I could sleep through the whole damn thing. If had to show up, they'd get my body only, I'd medicate myself right out of the experience. I'm here, can't say I'm not...but it hurts too much, so I'm not really here. Are you happy now?
It worked quite well for me, so what's the problem? One problem is the time I gave up with my parents. I know that someday, all too soon, I will be wishing for five more minutes with them, just five. And by the time I'm wishing for it, it will be an impossibility. Losing Cory has taught me that. It would be a shame to lose the lesson. What else is her senseless death worth, if not that?
The second problem is that I'm giving up the chance to make new memories with Jacob. This is his childhood, his adolescence, and his upbringing, too. He does not deserve to be short-changed. He is important. He is worthy. And even though, our holidays, I suspect, have changed forever and will always have a somber cast to them until he goes off and starts holiday traditions with a family of his own- creating a safe circle in which all participants are alive- they are still special days to share...together. Watching his face, making him smile, hearing him laugh...these are the things that make living,despite the pain, worth it. I don't want to sacrifice those moments because it's easier.
So, I'm gonna try to show up for Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners, and...wait for it... I will try not to be bombed out of my mind.
Christmas Eve is still open for debate. I may not make that. But at least I'm starting to think that at some point I probably should.
My girl ������������
ReplyDeleteBetter late than never.:)
ReplyDelete