Too Much Reality

From my journal December 27, 2002:

My sister is here. She came for Christmas, and I am very glad for it. But I’m not very good company. I’m so much more silent and withdrawn than I used to be. So much more subdued. I feel like I just observe, like I’m on the outside looking in.

Both Jenna and Eric were working yesterday, so Doris, Joe and I went shopping at the mall. On the way home, we drove by the cemetery so Doris could see Jason’s headstone. She hadn’t see it yet.

I felt like I had done Jason an injustice by not going by there on Christmas Day. It just felt so wrong to have celebrated Christmas without him. I hadn’t felt wrong about all we had done to celebrate Christmas up until that point. Then it seemed like we should have skipped the whole thing since he wasn’t here.

I know we need to do things. Our lives don’t stop – can’t stop – even though sometimes it feels like they should. Like they have.

I mostly followed Joe’s lead – getting a Christmas tree, getting presents, the whole Christmas Day thing. I really tried. But, as I stood there yesterday, I felt like we had cheated Jason by celebrating at all. He wouldn’t have wanted us not to celebrate Christmas, though. I know that. But how can we “celebrate” without him? How do we “celebrate” without him?

Doris had a difficult time at the cemetery. It’s really hard to see Jason’s name on a headstone. It’s too much reality, reality your mind doesn’t want to accept. It shouldn’t be him! He’s too young – so much life ahead of him; so much he could accomplish; so many lives to touch with his amazing heart. Such a good heart. Such a good guy.

© 2011 Rebecca R. Carney

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5 thoughts on “Too Much Reality

  1. We started a tradition, as difficult as it is, to take ice candles to the cemetary on Christmas eve and sing Christmas Carols. That way we share Christmas with Ryan, my son, and with Shirley, my sister, who are laying next to each other. It has become a beautiful thing, as others are doing it as well and our little cemetary is lit up with candles everywhere.
    We always have to shovel a pathway!

  2. The first Christmas after my husband died, I put my children in a sled and eased them down the hill to see their father on Christmas Eve and realized halfway down that I couldn’t feel my feet. I forgot to change into my boots. Onward we went, to place an angel ornament on his monument. The numbness kept my mind occupied and helped to pull us through the visit. Thank you for sharing your story of your children and your loss.

  3. Dear Ones–I wanted to thank you for visiting my new website, it means a great deal to me. But then I visited yours & was so overcome. Words are useless sometimes–I’m incredibly sorry for your losses. On one hand I’m relieved you, too, know the Lord–but I’m certain there must have been times you wondered, “why?” My cousin, “St.” Theresa is the dearest person in my life, & she lost her only son from cancer at age 16–you might like to read the birthday poem I wrote for her–just click on the Poetry page, & it’s the only one there (though I think I also included it in the Aug Archives.

    It was also interesting to see you know of Edmonds CC–“anyone who’s anyone” went there, don’t you know?

    My love & prayers go out to you today–may God richly bless you “double for your trouble”! Caddo

  4. Thank you all for your comments. I greatly appreciate it.

    Caddo – Regarding EdCC, all three of the kids and I graduated from there (varying years). They participated in the Running Start program at EdCC (taking college classes for both high school and college credit) while in high school. I started In January 2002 in an effort to integrate back into the work force after many years of homeschooling. Jason was nominated by the chair of the physics department for posthumous graduation in June 2002 since he was so close to finishing.

  5. May God bless and keep you.. may He wrap His love around you all.

    I know what you mean about black years and pain you don’t think could be topped. I lost my mom, my best friend in 2003. In 2004 I fnally got pregnant after 3.5 years of trying.. it was the light at he end of the tunnel. We named our baby girl Julia after my mom, like I had planned since I was little. At 38 weeks, the end of the tunnel went dark.. and bleek.. again.. when at 38 weeks, Julia Keely was born still. 18 months after we lost Mom, her namesake went to be with her..

    Like you said, nobody knows exactly how another feels, but the loss of a child is the worst pain, blackness that any parent can go through.. and should never have to. You will be in my prayers.

    They say time heals all wounds, but its just not so.. we learn to put one foot in front of the other.. and good things happen.. I have two beautiful little boys now and I love them more than words. But, they aren’t replacements for my daughter.. and I will always miss her.

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