Note: The holidays are not happy and filled with anticipation for many people, particularly for the members of the awful 'Parents who have buried a Child' club. I am not looking for pity or sympathy, but I am hoping this piece, written from the prompt 'an offering' at MMWG last week, will add understanding. I want to love this time of year as I once did, and there are still moments that I feel that feeling. However, then there is this reality. Please share and know there are too many of in this club hosted by Grief.
He’s in a better place.
God must have needed him.
Stupid words from well-meaning people after my son died. Like he was an offering to Heaven. Why anyone thought those phrases would bring me comfort, I will never understand.
Eight years and six months now my Robbie has been gone, and I still find my heart boarding itself off from feeling too much on an almost daily basis.
Christmas is coming.
Thanksgiving next week.
I have been self-provoking, taunting myself with dares to take on the holidays this year, to stop evading and avoiding.
This weekend I am pulling out all the stops, putting up the Nativity, the Rudolph stuffies, the snowmen and pine tree craft fair purchases, pre-covered in white Christmasy lights.
I will offer my heartache to the gods, and snub my nose at grief, in hopes that my boy will come and visit my dreams, wish me Merry Christmas, and push me into another new year.