WHAT IS A HOLIDAY?

WHAT IS A HOLIDAY?

Is it a date on a calendar?
Is it a cause for celebration because the merchants tell us it is?
Or is it a time of year when family lovingly gathers together
and special foods are selected and prepared?
Is it a religious day of remembrance
and a day to give thanks?

OR IS IT MORE THAN THAT?

How can it be more you might ask
Let's reflect for a moment on that special time of year and what it means to each of us.

HOLIDAYS PAST


MY MEMORIES OF THANKSGIVING:

a trip into the mountains
to see the turning leaves
crisp apples hanging on trees
red and green ready for harvesting
applesauce, apple pies, and cobblers.
Falling leaves
red, yellow, orange, green, and brown
walking through crisp leaves that crackle and crunch under foot
enjoying Indian summer
piles of raked leaves, resisting childlike
urges to fall face first in the tall piles
Planning the Thanksgiving feast
Who will make what
Days of preparation
Cleaning guest rooms, opening windows briefly to freshen the rooms
in anticipation of family
Cars pull into the driveway
Rush out with hugs and kisses
And expressions of welcome
House fills with the aroma of roasting turkey
Family around the table
One chair left vacant
Our Christian gone too soon
Tears
Candlelight dances on china plates and reflects off crystal glasses
The special silverware reserved for holidays laid out
Flowers on the table
Love fills my heart
Laughter, stories, happiness
The first snowfall of the year.

DECEMBER 9TH, 2011:

CHRISTIAN'S SECOND BIRTHDAY IN HEAVEN SOON TO COME
A full Heart and Joy that he was my child
and gave me so many years of happiness
Many, many memories of him as a precious little baby,
my sweet, special boy
my cuddly, adoring mommy's boy
the teenage years when he wanted me to park in the far, far end of the mall
so no one would know I had driven him
Strict instructions that if I saw him while shopping
I would pretend that we didn't know each other
I was a good Mom and didn't even give him a glance
although I had to secretly smile.
You loved your birthday more than anything
And wanted everyone to remember and call you.
without your knowledge I would call the family
and your friends to remind them.
You would have been so sad if no one remembered.

THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS' PAST:

The celebration of the birth of our Savior
I always wanted that to be the focus of the holiday
sometimes I was successful and sometimes not so successful
I loved pulling out the old decorations
(even if I didn't hang them on the tree)
and oohing and ahhing over each one
and remembering their special significance.

I loved doing a different theme for the tree each year.
I even wanted the wrapping paper to match my color scheme.
If the family brought packages that didn't coordinate,
they had to sit on the buffet and not under the tree.
My gosh! I was obsessive compulsive!
You always wanted a mismatched tree like "normal" people have
but your crazy Mom had to have her special tree.
I liked the neighbors coming over to see what it would be each year.
One year when I had pneumonia and was so sick
I couldn't get up off the couch
I ask you to wrap the presents from Santa
You were so proud! I hated to dispel the Christmas
fantasy but when I saw your gleaming face
I knew all was well. You knew a secret your sister didn't.
How many times over the years did you retell the story
with that same secretive, gleeful smile on your face?
You had a way of warming me through and through.
You had this wonderful way of seeing things differently than others.
That's what made you such a marvelous, humorous storyteller.


In years past just the thought of Christmas would fill me with a special kind of joy that is hard to explain. The first Christmas lights, the first carol, the scent of garlands and wreaths. Santa ringing his bell in front of Salvation Army kettles. All I know is that it put a smile on my face and a spring in my step. I was a working single mom so the thought of coming up with the extra cash to pay for gifts for my five children certainly wasn't it. There was a special feeling in the air that renewed my spirits and made me happy. How I loved the glitter, the ribbons, and the bows. The hustle and bustle of the shoppers. Hot chocolate and marshmallows.

We would go to a Christmas tree farm every year with my friend Diane and spend the afternoon picking out just the right tree and then cutting it down with the less than sharp saw the farm provided. How wonderful it smelled! and how damp the ground was under our knees as we sawed away. It was comical watching me trying to recut the bottom couple of inches off once we got home. Many a time I knocked the bucket of water over when trying to lift it in so it would soak up water before bringing it inside. And how many different concoctions did I make trying to prolong the life of the tree.

I loved driving the children around to look at the houses and yards decorated with lights and yard ornaments. How special that was! One elderly gentleman always put up a little Santa's workshop and handled out candy canes. He was our favorite. Our little town always put the same old battered ornaments up each year on the light poles and across the streets. They had long ago lost their splendor but somehow the town wouldn't have been the same without them. Then there was a large brightly lit tree in the city square with covered gift boxes all around. And, of course and without question, we stopped by the various churches to look at their nativity scenes and later that evening I would read the story of the first Christmas from St. Luke and we would place our own nativity scene on the hearth of the fireplace.

Then there was Christmas morning. It seemed I had just gotten into bed after my all night heroic efforts to put together toys with horribly written instructions and a butter knife (why didn't I buy a screwdriver?) and wrapping presents until I hated all of them. It seemed I had just closed my eyes when happy little children were jumping on my bed and pulling down the blankets. Who ever decided that 4 a.m. was the beginning of Christmas morning? Finally we reached a compromise … they could open their stockings and play with those gifts if they'd let me sleep another hour or two. As much as I love Christmas and what it stands for, Christmas morning really, really, really wasn't fun. Not fun until I'm finally able to focus my eyes and drag myself out of bed. Then everything changes and it becomes magical.

January 7th and time to take down the tree. I have to wait until the twelfth day of Christmas has past. The night the animals are given the gift of speech. It just wouldn't be right or feel comfortable in my mind of fantasy and fairy tales. Remember how the pine needles went everywhere when I tried to force the dead and dried tree through the door and into the field next to the house. I think that's the reason - plus the fire hazard - that finally got me to use an artificial tree. Disappointing but safer.

THOSE WERE THE OLD DAYS. THE OLDER HAPPY DAYS. NOW THE CHILDREN ARE GROWN AND MY DARLING, FUN LOVING CHRISTIAN IS GONE. We had no tree or lights or decorations last year. I was too sad. We did have a wonderful Thanksgiving even though I had initially dreaded it. We threw Christian a birthday party on his first birthday in Heaven. There were tears but also lots and lots of laughter. I wish I could say I remember last Christmas but I don't. Not one thing.

My grandchildren are the delights of my life. A couple of days later Kristen brought Benton and Brandon over to visit Nana and Papa. They had a grand time together. Benton and Persephone, had the most fun together. Benton loves spending time with his brother. His little face just glows when they are together. That gladdens my heart.

This year I missed Thanksgiving. I passed out (I don't know how long our precious baby was alone before someone showed up), ended up in the hospital, and slipped in and out of conscious all day. All I wanted to do was go home and late that evening they finally agreed. Do Doctors ever apologize? I barely remember him saying something to me about over medicating myself and trying to commit suicide. I was too unresponsive to answer but when my tox screen came back totally and completely clean, Patrick said he never even came back into the room. Patrick was pretty upset because he knew that under no circumstance would I voluntarily leave the baby uncared for. And let me make it perfectly clear ... I do not use drugs! I was too sick to care then but it makes me mad now. Why do they automatically think drugs are the cause of every illness?

I slept through the entire day of Thanksgiving - in my own bed, in my own bedroom - even though I had family all around. Even my sweet, sweet Kristen (the mother of Christian's second son) drove two hours from North Seattle with my grandson Benton to be with me. Benton wanted to have a sleep over with me in my bed. He is six and is so precious. He said to the family "Enny meanny, mighty moe, I stay and the rest of you go." How I love that little boy. His mommy had to take him home and begin cooking for Thanksgiving with her family. Stephanie and Ken took the baby home with them to spend the night so I could rest.

On Saturday the family returned and we had our turkey dinner - prepared by Tiffany. After dinner we were playing this game where we picked what our names would be if we could select our own. It was my daughter Stephanie's turn. Let me tell you first, Stephanie is beautiful, classy, and sophisticated. She should have been born into royalty. Before she could answer little Persephone called out "Your name should be Bisquick." I still laugh at the thought of it.


If I'm well enough, I'm suppose to go visit my Mother in Nevada from November 30th to December 14th. If I get there, we'll light a candle for Christian on his birthday and send up a balloon with love notes attached.

I don't know what Christmas will hold this year; but we do have a baby that will be celebrating his first Christmas. His Papa and I will have to get a small tree that we can put on a table or that little pudding head will pull it over.

I try so hard to be thankful for all I have but there is nothing that can fill that empty place inside of me. I see the lights and sounds of Christmas and I feel nothing. I will do everything I can to make this a special Christmas for baby Christian. I truly can hardly wait to see his little face when the tree lights are turned on for the first time. But where is the joy and excitement I use to feel? I try and try and try but I just can't find it.

I can't end this without telling you about Easter when Christian was just four. I remember it was on a Wednesday morning and little Christian came to me and said "Today is Easter". I tried to explain that no today is Wednesday and then we have Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and finally Easter Sunday arrives. He looked up at me with his beautiful clear blue eyes and a face of pure innocence and says "Mommy you know no big rabbit comes and brings eggs and a basket so Easter can be any day we want and today is Easter." I then had to explain what Easter really was but I never forgot his logic at the tender age of four.

EMPTY ARMS, BROKEN HEART

When you have lost a loved one, there is nothing that can fill that empty place in your heart. When the departure is sudden and tragic, the impact is horrific. Death by suicide is impossible to totally come to terms with. Knowing that someone you love dearly has chosen to leave you and die by their own hand is devastating; and when that someone is your precious child, words are inadequate to describe the depth of the pain. That empty place inside feels as though it is sucking the very life out of you. I don't mean in any way to minimize the loss of a loved one by other causes. Nothing ever prepares one for the loss of a loved one. Even when the loss is expected. There is nothing that ever could and nothing that ever will.

Somewhere in the midst of all that pain, sorrow, and confusion your arms begin to feel overwhelmingly empty. I cannot explain what it feels like to walk about with a big, vacant hole in the center of your soul and the emptiness your arms feel when they can no longer hold the one you so desperately need to hold just one more time. You breath in and all the air seems to escape through that hole. And all the warmth. I can only say that it feels somewhat like trying to live inside a empty, cold shell.

We may be surrounded by caring, loving people but still we are alone in our cold, empty existence. I am not one to verbalize my feelings. For me, writing about it and not having to interact or explain or relive it vocally is much easier and I suppose another way I isolate. I'd rather put up walls and pretend everything is fine. I keep my feelings buried pretty deeply.

My sister, Debbie, knows this about me and would say "it's okay to cry". But still when in the presence of others, I don't. She wanted desperately to help me. One day while both of us were visiting our Mother in Nevada, she said to me "You need something to wrap your arms around, something to hold on to when you are alone and lonely and hurting."

The next day the three of us went shopping. We weren't shopping for anything in particular. It was just an afternoon outing. Deb and I came upon a display of Dr. Seuss stuffed animals. I love the oddity of his characters and the creativity and rhyme of his stories. I am a big, big fan BUT I am not a big fan of stuffed animals. I like stuffed animals for children and I think it's really sweet when an older person still sleeps with a treasure from childhood. It just isn't me.

When my sister suggested that I select one of the characters for myself and she would purchase it as a gift for me, I was uncomfortable with the thought But since she said that it had helped her get pass a difficult time in her own life and had been suggested to her by a counselor, I decided that maybe I could at least try. I selected "the Lorax". Mostly because he had arms that I could wrap around my neck, a soft chest I could press my face into, and sad eyes I could relate to. So "the Lorax" was purchased and taken home.

The story might have ended there. After all I'm far too old for the comfort of a stuffed animal but the story did not end there. This is what happened: That night I got into my nightgown, fluffed my pillows, snuggled down beneath the crisp, clean sheets and under the soft, warm blankets, and turned off the light. The moonlight reflected on the Lorax which was sitting next to me on the bed and leaning against the wall. Reluctantly I picked him up, put his little arms around my neck, and settle my cheek into his little body. I hadn't noticed that I was holding my breath but as I pulled him close I began to relax and breath. It was so comforting to hold this soft, yellow creature close to me. Amazingly he did fulfill that need to wrap my arms around something and hold it close.

For more than a year now, the Lorax has been not only my nighttime companion but my anytime companion as well. Any time I'm feeling so sad and so empty and feeling the loss of Christian so deeply that I can't bear it, I pick up my little yellow fellow and hold him close.

I'm sharing this with you - and I do so with much hesitation - because it is something that has helped me so much and might, I hope, help someone else too. I almost didn't tell you because it is embarrassing for me to admit that I sleep with my arms wrapped around a stuffed animal every night. I can feel the warmth of my husband's body lying next to me but this fulfills a different need. A deeper need. A grieving mother's need.

I would suggest this for anyone but especially for those of you that are emotionally reserved and unable or unwilling to share your feelings and thoughts with others. Get yourself something to hold on to and share your tears with. They never offer advise; never tell you how to live your life; never judge the way you grieve or the length of your grieving process. They just give comfort.

DID YOU EVER.......

The following journal entry was written June 13, 2011, and was an accurate depiction of my feelings during that time period. Today is November 11, 2011. It is amazing to me how life repeats itself over and over again. And it doesn't take but an instant, one memory to careen us back into heartache. Sending us spiraling and crashing down.

Of late I have been waking up with a smile on my face. I feel so up, so on top of the world.

Our little grandson fills my days with sweet little smiles and baby chatter. He goes from one toy to another playing and then looking up at me to be sure I'm watching, smiles, and then goes on to another toy. Our days are pretty much the same ...busy - especially now that he can crawl like the wind - but happy.

I rarely ever get the opportunity to go out by myself so today going to the mall alone was a treat and something I haven't done for the past twenty-two months. I've been somewhat of a recluse since Christian died. I haven't had any interest in going any where where I might have to interact with others. At first it was a need and then the need became so comfortable that it became a habit and then a way of life.

The trip to the mall wasn't planned. It was merely something to do between doctor appointments. I walked through the automated doors expecting nothing. I stood there momentarily frozen. It truly felt like I had left a black, white, and gray world and walked into dreamland. There were huge Christmas ornaments dangling from the ceiling and displayed in spectacular arrangements everywhere I looked. Sparkle and glitter and tiny white lights. The store windows were festively decorated with "snow" and frosty blues and silver. The artificial bushes and trees were aglitter with frozen branches and colorful birds.

I wandered through the stores and looked at the displays of clothing wrapped in ribbons with an underlay of tissue paper. I especially liked the arrangements of bone china and crystal. It reminds me of holiday dinners with my family back in Maryland. Eventually I found myself in the men's department of one of the high end department stores. I drifted between the aisles of expensive men's wear letting my hand softly caress the fabrics finding joy in the luxury of the different textures.

At last I stood before a beautiful arrangement of men's sweaters. I picked up one of the cashmere sweaters and pressed it against my cheek and breathed in. Cashmere has a scent that is softer and cleaner than heavy wool. As I stood there enjoying the moment in a world that I can no longer afford, my eyes fell upon a sweater that I know Christian would have selected had he been standing next to me in his earthly body. Tears suddenly sprang to my eyes and began to cascade down my cheeks. It was all I could do to not fall on the floor in a sobbing heap and cry my eyes out. The assault of emotion was so sudden and so unexpected. I had crashed and fell spiraling down to earth.

I was emotionally exhausted. I left the store. My body felt heavy and my steps were slow and labored - like those of an old person that was tired of living and felt life had become a burden. Outside the store and in the middle of the wide corridor were two couches and two large chairs centered around two equally large ottomans. I slowly lowered myself into the side of one of the couches. It was covered in a soft, brown vinyl and I sunk down into the overstuffed cushion. I wrapped my arms around my purse, leaned my head back on the back cushion. I was suddenly so, so tired. So tired, so emotionally exhausted, so weak ... so sad ... that I fell asleep. I fell asleep in the middle of the mall, in the middle of all that beauty, surrounded by people. I slept for one-and-a-half hours. Occasionally I would open my eyes and see someone sitting on one of the chairs - usually an elderly man, probably waiting for his wife to finish up her shopping. One would think that with someone else sitting in such close proximity that I would have sat up straight and woke up; but I was just so tired that all I did was close my eyes and go back to sleep. I have never been so tired.

When at last I woke up and left the lounge area, I realized that I was right back to the place I had been in the months following Christian's death. All the feelings I had experienced then and off and on for the past twenty-two months were back stronger than ever. I felt empty and alone. The same way I felt on June 13, 2011, when I made this journal entry:

DID YOU EVER......

wish you could just go to a place where all the decisions were made for you? Not forever but for just a little while .... a week or two or three. No decisions at all. Not even the tiny ones. No deciding what to wear or what to eat or when to get out of bed. No pressures. No cooking dinner at the end of the day unless you wanted to. And if you do cook something, not worrying about if it was a balanced meal. Eat only protein or starch or vegetables if you want. One night when Patrick was gone, I only ate hummus and fresh carrots and red bell peppers. And it was good.

Watching the channels on t.v. that you wanted to or not watching at all. Music, no music. If you were so inclined, stay up as late as you wanted doing art work or writing or journaling or scrapbooking or woodworking or whatever you enjoy doing. Even sewing.

I don't sew anymore. Once upon a time I found great pleasure in taking a long piece of fabric and creating something wonderful with scissors, pins thread, and sewing machine. Not anymore - too much effort. For that matter I don't scrapbook anymore either. Poor little Christian is not going to have a scrapbook of his baby years. I feel bad about that but not bad enough to do anything about it. No energy.

I care that I don't care. Sounds strange doesn't it? I know I should care about things - people. But I don't. And it worries me just a tiny bit that I don't. It just takes too much effort, too much energy. Depression really sucks!

Yep! just lock me away some where and make all the decisions. Just don't try to make me talk, or leave my room, or make nice. I only want peace and quiet and solitude. I'll do all those things when I'm ready. I'm just not ready now. Not today anyway. Not today or tomorrow or the day after that either.

I thought after more than a year following Christian's death that I would be well on my way to recovery but it only seems to get worse. Maybe the moon is in some strange phase and is affecting my mental status. Maybe tomorrow will be better. I can only hope.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME

Little baby, so small, so perfect. I look down at your sleeping face as you lay cradled in my arms. Your sapphire blue eyes closed; your downy hair and soft cheek pressed against me. Your tiny hand wrapped around my finger. You are everything to us. So much so that it is hard to imagine that you have only been here on this earth, with us, for nine months. The other day you fell asleep on our bed. Your Papa and I watched you sleep. Occasionally you would wake up, lift your head, look at us and smile, and then lay your head down and go back to sleep. Just when we think we couldn't possibly love you more, you steal our hearts all over again.

When you are awake, I see in you the beginnings of who you will be - your sweet, loving, cuddly side; your determination to go after and get what you want; your temper. Yes, at nine months you have a temper. You also have a sense of humor and laugh when you see that we are charmed by something you have done. And you are smart. So smart. You watch us and imitate sounds we make. You even try to repeat words. Very basic simple words but the beginning of words nonetheless. You were so pleased with yourself when you looked at your Papa and said "pah pah" - almost as pleased as your Papa was. Some day you will master "Nana" and I will be beside myself with joy.

Today has been a difficult day for both of us. You have the beginnings of a cold and aren't feeling well. You've never been sick before and you are a very unhappy little boy. Tonight you didn't want to go to bed. You just want to be held and comforted. At long last you have finally settle down in my arms and fallen asleep. I dare not move incase my movements cause you to wake up.

As I sit with you in this dimly lit nursery looking down at you and marveling at the wonder that is you, I am reminded of another baby long ago that I held in my arms just as I now hold you. Another baby so small and so perfect. I remember wondering and worrying about all the things I needed to teach him to give him all the tools he would need to not only succeed in life but to become a loving, caring, compassionate man ... to love God and respect his fellow man. God puts a lot of faith in us when He gives us a child - a lot of faith and a lot of responsibility.

I remember so clearly watching him go from being a sweet baby to becoming a sweet little curly-haired, dimpled boy. He, too, was so full of charm and personality. So happy, so loving. He was my little boy. As the years passed, he became a school boy, then a teenager, and finally a young man finding his place in the world. We had our trials during his teenage years but he became a fine, independent young man. His own person - just as you will. But regardless of his age he was always "my boy". Neither circumstance nor time will ever change that.

When I began this journey in January 2010, I thought my relationship with my son was unique. No one had every felt about their child the way I felt about mine. No one had ever shared the same magical moments with their child/children as I had. No one else had sprinkled their children's lives with fairy dust and taught them to fly.

I was both sad and happy to learn I was wrong. Happy because others had the same joy with their child as I had had with mine; and sad because I realized their pain was as real and every bit as deep as my own.

For all mothers and fathers everywhere that have shared the wonder and magic of childhood with their child, I would like to share this poem written by Patsy Gaut.


When Was The
LAST TIME

When was the last time I tucked
you in tight? The last time I held
YOU in the middle of the night?
Or read you a story of pirates and
Kings or COWBOYS and dragons
and fairies with WINGS?

When was the last TIME I dried
your sad TEARS? When was the
last time ... Has it been years? A
MOTHER recalls first times but last
times may fade, so I'll cherish these
moments and the MEMORIES
WE'VE MADE.

So I'm remembering the last time
we stood in the RAIN and counted
the cars on a choo-choo train.
Leaving a note for SANTA to see
And your wide eyed wonder of our
CHRISTMAS tree.

If I could have last times just once
again I'd WRITE them all down
with paper and pen and read when
I'm old of those SWEET precious
times we sat on your bed and read
NURSERY rhymes.

You would throw kisses to the
man in the MOON, my little one
you've grown up too soon.
So I'll search my dreams and SWEET
memories I'll find, as you close the
DOOR and leave a BABY behind.


I thought my sweet boy and I would have years and years and years together. That we would watch his own boys grow up and have families of their own. I thought that we would continue to make memories and have cherished moments together; but at 31 years of age he was gone and I was left with an enormous hole in my heart.

I thought that I would never be happy again; but then you came along little Christian and filled my days with happiness and excitement as I watch you grow and develop new skills. I will not try to make you him. I will not try to substitute you for him. You are NOT Christian Sean Jorgensen. You are Christian Michael Jorgensen born on January 27, 2011. You are beautiful and you are perfect. You will always be entirely and uniquely you. You will be loved greatly and cherished every day of your life so sleep well my little one. Tomorrow is another day.