I don’t know what I expected from Christmas this year. Between stretching our spending on the million obligations we somehow managed to get tied down to, December went olympic speed fast. Here one minute, gone the next. Before I really even had time to digest what was happening, the event was over.
We didn’t include Logan this year. Whether out of healing or out of rushed forgetfulness I’m unsure. Lately, he’s become an afterthought. Which I think only pushes me further down the ridiculous ladder I’m trying to climb. It’s good right? That I’m not dwelling on the fact my son is no longer here? Then why does it feel as if I’m failing because he wasn’t a before thought? Or even an in-the-moment thought? We did include him in Christmas family photos, so I guess there’s that…
The day leading up to Christmas, I began to feel crummy and the days that have followed, leave me feeling like I’ve been hit by a freight train. Feeling as if I am literally trapped in my own body has given me lots of time to ponder, or perhaps a lot of time to try and not to ponder. I try to avoid it a lot most days. I’ve been overwhelmed a few times with emotion. My cousin just had a baby. And while I thoroughly enjoy looking at his cute pictures, it always leaves me with an ache. Logan would almost be two this Christmas season. And we forgot him.
I’m come to this conclusion in my life: I’m broken. Logan broke me, and I will always be broken. Everyone says that God will fill this gaping hole. And while I believe God fills a lot of things, I don’t think He can put these pieces back together. Not because he is unable, but simply because I don’t think it’s meant to be. I wouldn’t be the person I am without Logan. I wouldn’t make the decision I do without my brokenness. And I’m willing to gamble 75% of the time, I’m lost in my head, in my brokenness. And sometimes, that 75% doesn’t respond well to the outside world.
As I lay in the bath now, trying to ease this congestion.. to tease these barriers down that have left me feeling trapped in my body.. I see the battle scares left from Logan’s brief stay. It reminds me of the operating room. Picturing it now in my head, I see their faces, not specifically unique, but blurs of faces. And they look sad. Sad for what was about to happen to us. To every visitor that came to our room. The hospice nurse who visited everyday and had to witness the destruction of my body and soul along with Logan’s. The faces I see each and everyday since, that react because of Logan. The faces that watch my every move unsure if I’m really surviving.
I look at my body and I feel pity. From myself and from others around me. There is this invisible neon sign flashing around my neck notifying everyone in radius of me, that my body failed. That my body is weak and scarred. That I am in some way tainted. I tell myself there is beauty and bravery in those scars. And while the mind can be a beautiful thing, it is equally as cruel.
This Christmas, while I have not cried, I have managed to forget to honor my son’s memory, forgot to buy both my boys their annual christmas ornament and left him home alone while we visited family. I’m going to repeat this mantra and hope it sticks “He is in my heart forever, but not always at the forefront. But the pain that lingers reminds me of how loved he truly is.”