It is the silly season. The season of madness. It’s the time for holiday merriment with its relentlessly upbeat expectations, sometimes forced, especially for those of us grieving the loss of a loved one.
No matter where I or what I am doing, there is always one thought that is in the forefront of my mind: “My child is dead”. That thought can never be erased. It has become a part of my soul.
I sense an impatience in some people for me to “get over it”, “put it in the past”, “stop dwelling on your loss”, or “move forward”
Yes, I have moved forward, but I can never forget. There is an aching in my soul and a hole in my heart. There is always a part of me that is always aware that “my child is dead.” I will never be complete again. Nothing or no one can fill the place my child had in my life and heart!
Like a drowning person I am grabbing onto symbolic things – an angel garden, burning candles, a memorial light in a tree of remembrance, a Hospice….. These symbolic things simultaneously provides solace, searing pain and anger.
On Friday night the Tree of Remembrance was lit at the premises where our Hospice building is. I was filled with such immense sadness that I was unable to contain my tears. I know that I was not the only one moved by the lighting of the tree. I was flanked by a dear friend who lost her husband nine months ago and a colleague who lost her mother a year ago. Gentle tears ran down their cheeks. Jared, my eldest grandson who stood behind me, put his arms around me and whispered “I miss Mommy too…”
Many bereaved people will pretend this is just another holiday season. It isn’t. I refuse to pretend that it is.
This will be my first birthday, our first Christmas, Jared’s 17th birthday and New Year without Vic. My birthday I hope to ignore. Christmas Eve we will spend at Lani’s house with a lot of people we don’t know. I know there will be no room for thought. There will be a lot of food, gifts, talking, laughing…. Christmas Day I will go to a squatter camp with Reuben and the children in his church. We will provide the poor with a meal. Jared’s birthday – we will all make a huge effort to make special… New Year’s I will remember knowing last year that Vic was dying. That it was her last New Year.
Dick Lumaghi, bereavement coordinator for Hospice of Ukiah says “The depth of a grief is exactly proportional to the depth of attachment; from one perspective, a deep grief is a badge of honour, a big love between two people.”
I do wear my grief as a badge of honour. My precious child was gentle, kind, compassionate, beautiful, loyal and loving. She earned every tear I have ever shed. She earned ever tear I will ever shed. I wish people would understand that it’s total impossible for me to “get over it”, “put this in the past”, “stop dwelling on your loss”, or “move forward”.
I love my child. I miss my child. I want my child home with me.
I just finished a batch of choc-chip cookies. The house is quiet and sweet smell of the biscuits has permeated the air. The 
Vic's Final Journey 