By Grace Sullivan, Online Editor-in-Chief
It’s Christmas 2015 and I wake up after another sleepless night of panic attacks, tears and disbelief. Walking into our living room, it’s the picture-perfect scene: the stockings hung precisely over the fireplace, tree glistening in the early-morning light, presents lined up.
What is missing from the room is the hospice bed and oxygen tank that had taken over the heart of our home for months. Two weeks prior, they were taken out, along with bottles of medicine and most importantly, the woman who raised me.
This is the first holiday after the death of my mom.
Though I am constantly reminded my mom is no longer with me, the holidays are different. November and December are months filled with family and gratefulness since Thanksgiving, Christmas and my birthday all fall in these two months. During this time, I try my hardest to maintain the joy and constant happiness others have. I don’t want to ever dampen the mood with my own personal problems, but eventually I crack.
Little things such as singing “Silent Night” together at Christmas Eve mass, the box of ornaments she would hang and the Happy Birthday note she would put in my lunch are the memories that hurt the most. They’re irreplaceable, similar in some ways to what others experience, yet still special for me personally.
The biggest hurdle was accepting it was over. I was 15 and realized I would never have another Christmas card with my mom. Her stocking would collect dust above the fireplace. Her chair at the table where she would sit next to my dad and my aunt would forever be empty. Her laughing at her childhood memories with her sisters while the tree lights blinked and snow coated the Pennsylvania woods would be a scene I would never see again.
Dealing with the grief is like walking through fog, as you never know when you’re going to fall through the haze of guilt and sorrow. It’s complicated. I don’t want to have too much fun, but I don’t want to be negative, either. I’ll feel bad that even though I don’t have one of the main people in my life anymore, I’m still having fun without her.
In the midst of me moving on, I can’t help but constantly remember the first “lasts” I had with her – the last interactions I would ever have with my mom for the rest of my life. She would never get me college gear when I committed to a school, see me bring home a boy for the holidays, watch my kids open presents.
For every single individual going through the holidays without a loved one, it’s a different experience. Some completely engulf themselves in new activities, not wanting to face the old traditions they would do in the past. For others it’s the opposite, as they can’t bear to leave that aspect of their life behind them.
Making new traditions, new memories and going one more year without her is a love-hate experience. It’s proof I’m growing up and moving on – but I don’t want to move on completely. I want to hold onto the old activities, but I can’t without feeling empty and lost.
It’s been three years and I’m proud of myself and my family. We’ve kept old traditions we just couldn’t live without, but integrated some new ones. And these new traditions are what I value most, because it’s a sign that as a family we’ve overcome, accepted and made the best of the situation.
So as my fourth Christmas without my mom comes closer, my anxiety builds and so does my hope. I know I’ll have my moments, questioning why this had to happen, but things are starting to look up. And when we put the tree up in our house, I know the angel on top will be looking down on all of us, smiling, wishing she could be there, but proud of us for moving on with our lives.
Senior Grace Sullivan can be reached at sullivangr1129@daretolearn.org.
