For Thor - 77 - Comfort & Joy

Dad and I have been wrapping gifts, buying the groceries and planning a project for our time off, but I go about these activities with a pall of sorrow. I feel like a jewel-toned watercolor painting that someone washed over with gray. It's still me; I'm still here, but all my colors are subdued, muted. Functional (mostly), okay-ish (mostly), happy-ish (sometimes), grateful (always).  As I drove home from work yesterday evening, I ticked off the last few shopping things I needed to do before allowing myself to settle in and experience whatever this first Christmas without you has in store for me.

After supper, last night dad and I wrapped a humongous gift for Chaz and were quite the pair of giggling conspirators as we tried to figure out how to cover this box that stands 7 feet tall! There was joking, all on Dad's part. To get me to smile, he is willing to be ridiculous, silly, bawdy or anything else that might make me grin. And it worked. I'm not sure what happened, but I know you rode in on that joy like you'd be waiting for the shell of heartbreak to crack, again, as it has so many times this year. Every time I allow myself to be broken, open --- melty, I am able to rest in that state of being that allows for a greater experience of love.

Later last night, the insistent tinkling of the wind chimes outside my bedroom window caught my attention and drew my gaze out across the darkness to where the constellation that I now call, Thor, sailed high in the sky. Under the steady gaze of those stars, a feeling of giddy happiness bubbled up from inside as if my whole heart had swallowed the buttery-warm tonic of the sun. I laughed out loud in what can only be described as an expression of pure joy. This is your gift to me this Christmas, Thor. You came to visit us as we prepare for the holiday and literally warmed my heart, touching me with your spirit; bestowing an angel blessing upon me. There are many Christmas memories to treasure from the nineteen magical years together, and this is a new one from our new way of being. Now we're separated by the veil of the unknown, but we are also connected by what we do know in every cell of our Selves: Love.

We took our places in the living room to watch A Christmas Carol, and as we settled in, I made a joke, that was very much at your Dad's expense, but it was so funny that I cracked myself up. Xan and Chaz cracked up, your dad took it well even if he was stunned that I would make such a joke. But I think he appreciated the fact that I was laughing. I mean, I really laughed for the first time in a year. I attribute this to the shot of Joy you hit me with when you called me to stand by the window and listen with all my being for what you're trying to tell me; Live in Joy, Mama!

Grief is an expression of love, pure and simple. Grief grips me tight because I cannot hold you in a big hug and I will never get to see the father you would have been. I won't get to see if your children favor you in looks and charm. I grieve because there is a hole in my heart that cannot be filled because it goes all the way through to the core of me being, back to where we all come from. I grieve for your life cut short, for our journey together this life ending the way it did. I grieve for your brothers and dad and your Starr. I grieve for your friends who miss you terribly and feel uncertain in life, now, not sure about what can be counted upon. I grieve for so many reasons, but they all come back to one root, love.

I grieve because it's Christmas and you're not here with us in the flesh, eating, drinking, laughing, plotting about gifts and making plans to celebrate with your friends.

If all of this is love dressed up as grief, I say that Joy is an expression of Love, too. I am joyful because I am your mom and we share a love and bond that even death cannot break. I feel joy for the memories and the stories I carry that keep you alive in my heart. There is the joy for the way you changed me from being a woman to being a mother, your Mama. I find joy in loving your Dad and brothers, and you. I express joy through tears as I am overwhelmed with love every single day. My broken heart is open to the simple beauty of seeing the full moon setting in the West while the sun graces us with a soft glow in the East - a sight that sparked joy in my heart. Joy can live next door to grief because it is the same love that expresses in each. And if joy is an expression of love, then it can fill the Thor-sized hole in my heart, because if you are anything to me, you are joy and love combined.

When I bought my new car in September, I also got new license plates. I picked out the Protect the Pollinators style that has hummingbirds, bees, and butterflies on it. And then I personalized it with a message not only for me but for anyone who happens to be riding behind me on any road; LIVJOY. I admit, Thor, this is a fake-it-till-you-make-it kind of statement, allowing myself to LIVE in JOY and to LIVE JOYFULLY eludes me at times. Grief and sorrow will not be denied, they have their way with me, wringing my heart and sweeping it clean with tears. But it's okay, I don't mind the grief. It is ours, together. But now we are sharing Joy, too, and that is the biggest gift of all.

I'll try to remember your visit as we roll closer to the anniversary of your death. That is a sad, sad day for me. But I am staying open to what you might reveal in the wee hours of the night; of how I might find my way out of pain and into Joy more fully. I'll be listening for you to ring the chimes and sing to my soul, sweet boy.

It's Christmas Eve, Eve and we'll be going to the party with the family. It's going to be hard to be around everyone with that empty spot where you should be standing, in the picture, in the conversation, in the making of new memories. But I'll do my best to tap into that ball of yellow, sunshine, JOY you hit me with.

There will be tears.
Tears of sorrow. Tears of joy. Both bring comfort in their turn.

I haven't been able to wish anyone a Merry Christmas this year. The words get stuck in my throat and dry to dust in my mouth. I think this is because I don't feel merry inside. In order to bestow a wish, one must feel the thing being wished for; happiness, merriment, etc. While merriment might be out of the scope of my experience this year, comfort and joy are certainly in my grasp. I can wish Glad Tidings of Comfort and Joy!  I'm grateful for this gift, dear boy. Thank you for staying close and for helping me find my way. 

I love you,
Mom