What I Didn’t See Coming – Christmas 2017

One of the first lessons you learn when grieving a loss, is to steel yourself for certain significant moments.  You plan for the “big days” – like birthdays, Christmas, anniversaries of the death, etc. You learn quickly that the days leading up to the event are often harder than the event itself and then you try to plan for those.  Even with all the planning though, there are sneaky moments – ones that you didn’t see coming that knock you off your feet.

Our first Christmas without Rylie was hard.  We knew it would be and so we planned for Ziggy’s dad and our nephew to come visit.  Ziggy’s dad spent several months with us while Rylie was in the hospital and in the months immediately following her death.  We knew he would ‘go with the flow’ and follow our lead on celebrating the season, or not. We also knew that the season would be especially hard on Tanner.  At eleven years old, or for that matter thirty-seven or forty-one, Christmas comes with expectation and we didn’t want to be too bah humbugy, especially for Tanner.  So we invited Dexter, Tanner’s cousin and idol, to spend time with us and admittedly provide a distraction. Both Ron and Dexter, gave selflessly to us – choosing to be away from their own families in order to support us.  

Having other people at our house, forced all of us to slip into rhythms of the season.  Forced may seem like a strong word, but it was a good kind of forcing – good to have something to fall back on when our energy was low.  Good to fall into old habits like a pair of comfortable jeans.  

It was also hard.  Hard to do the things we’d always done since there was a glaring hole in our reality.  But we did the best we could. We allowed ourselves some space and held the habits loosely.  For the most part, we did slip into them like a pair of comfy jeans, but we also let them go if the jeans just didn’t fit.  

Even with all the planning and openness about how we were feeling, what I didn’t see coming was Christmas Eve.  I know it sounds ridiculous; everyone knows Christmas Eve is coming. It’s tied to a specific date on the calendar.  The media hypes it. Everyone talks about it. We even had plans for it.

What I didn’t see coming – what I didn’t plan for well enough, though, was Christmas Eve stocking stuffing.  I hadn’t considered what it would be like to schlep all the carefully wrapped presents all in their person-specific bags down to the family room.  I hadn’t considered what it would be like to first fill Ziggy’s, then Ron’s, then Dexter’s and then Tanner’s stockings. Seeing each one of them go from a flat sock hanging wistfully from a snowflake holder, to a three dimensional mass bursting at the seams.

What I didn’t see coming was Rylie’s stocking, still hanging limp and unfilled while the others were laying now plump on the floor.  What I didn’t see coming was the way I would feel in that moment. Both lost and distraught, and also like a failure. I didn’t see the moment where I felt like I’d let Rylie down by not buying her anything for Christmas – which is totally dumb because she couldn’t open anything – but those were exactly the thoughts that pummeled my brain.  I didn’t see the judgement I’d place on myself for “leaving Rylie out” of Christmas that year.  

I didn’t expect to find myself, crumpled on the floor in front of our fireplace, surrounded by love and even excess, staring up at an empty stocking and wondering what to do to make it better.  I didn’t expect to stay there crying for sometime before I could make sense of it all.  

Slowly, my senses drifted back through the fog of judgement and despair.  I knew buying her gifts was a waste, but I knew without a doubt, that I couldn’t let that stocking dangle empty.  So I turned to my “go to” when I’m feeling lost. I turned to my words.  

I trudged up the stairs, stifling the sobs and wiping away drips from my nose.  I gathered my computer and went into our room, knowing that I couldn’t be alone at that moment.  Ziggy didn’t see this coming either or he wouldn’t have left me to stuff the stockings on my own.  As soon as I walked in, computer in hand, red faced, he knew.  

I crawled onto the bed next to him and opened my computer.  He stroked my back as my fingers danced across the keyboard.  I wrote a letter to Rylie and told her about what had transpired in the months since she’d died.  He held me gently, tears streaming down my face, as I admitted to her that I hadn’t seen her empty stocking coming.  I wrote my heart out, telling her about how much we missed her and how I wished I’d done so many things differently. I told her about the good things that had happened, and the lessons I’d learned.  I told her I was sorry.  

Finally when there was nothing left, I hit print.  I walked into the office, carefully scanned the letter and felt tears welling up again.  I folded it neatly and began the long, slow walk back downstairs. I stood at the edge of the family room eyeing the lone stocking hanging above the fireplace and breathed deeply.  Tears that I didn’t think I had left began pouring out while I took those last steps toward her stocking. I gently took it off the hook, slid the letter in and placed it on the floor next to Tanner’s stocking.  

It still looked sad and flat, but at least I knew that there was love inside.  I turned, walked back to my room, climbed into my bed and into Ziggy’s arms seeking comfort.  I was both sad and relieved. Relieved that I’d found a way to “fill” Rylie’s stocking and relieved to know a new tradition was born.

Christmas Eve stocking stuffing is still hard, but I know what to expect.  Ziggy stays by my side. We go upstairs together and I write my letter to Rylie.  Then I make the long walk to her stocking and place some more love inside.