I must apologize for my prolonged absence on my blog. 2013 has been a truly difficult year. My father passed away in the spring after a short battle with the same cancer that claimed my mother's life.
Becoming 'orphaned' as an adult is a fear that I always carried with me, but it doesn't matter how much you worry about the notion, you're never prepared for when it actually happens.
And here we are… it's the holiday season, a time of family, memories and a renewed sense of loss for some of us.
I recently wrote an article for Canadian Living magazine's website about how to deal with your grief during the Christmas holiday season. This subject is one that's very close to my heart. I wish that I had found an article like this one for the first Christmas that I spent without my mum. For my research this autumn, I spoke to a wonderful grief counsellor from Montreal - Dawn Cruchet. She offered some invaluable advice that I took to heart this year. I can only hope that my article will help others like me who are continuing to struggle with the death of someone special. Click here to read 7 ways to cope with the holidays after the loss of a loved one.
Mother's Day is celebrated here in Canada and the United States tomorrow. I've always loved this day as it's the 'official' opportunity to tell the world how much you love and respect your mother. It's important. Mums do the most difficult job in the world and they cannot be thanked enough for it. Some people might need the little push that Mother's Day provides to tell their mum how much they love them, but I never fell into that category.
My mum was my favourite person on the planet. We would get together at least once a week and we spoke every day. Each night, after dinner when we both would have just sat down, fresh from washing the dishes and before we got tucked into whatever was on TV that night, we'd have a chat. Chances are, I would have spoken to my mum earlier that day too, but regardless of how frequent we spoke, I never let one of our conversations wrap up without telling her that I loved her. I didn't say it because I felt like I had to, or because she said it first. I said it because I felt it deep in my heart and I couldn't bear to have her hang up the phone without hearing those four little words: "I love you, mum."
I know many people think that occasions such as Mother's Day are just greedy opportunities for greeting card manufacturers and florists to make a killing on sad saps who need to make a grand statement. To those people I say, what's wrong with letting someone know - even if it is once a year - that you care about them? The world needs more love, not less. And if one day helps someone take pause and tell the people closest to them that they care, is that so bad? No, I don't think so either. It's amazing how a bunch of flowers or a glittery card can make someone feel loved and important.
I've always been a fan of Mother's Day. But the last two years, my relationship with it has been strained. Marking the occasion without your mum here - to hug, to spoil, to love - is incredibly cruel and painful. I miss going through the motions on this day and every day. I feel like I can no longer take part as intended, that I'm standing on the sidelines watching all the other 'kids' of all ages, doting on their mums. The ache doesn't lessen two years on. It changes a bit, but it's still there and becomes part of you in a strange way.
If you are fortunate to still have your mum a phone call away, do me a favour and tell her that you love her. But don't just tell her on Mother's Day. Tell her on her birthday. At Christmas. When the flowers in your garden bloom for the first time in Spring. Tell her every time you can - just because you *can*. You can't tell her enough, trust me... because when she's gone, you'll wish more than anything that you could tell her...one more time.
It's January 6, and my Christmas tree is still standing proud. For someone who was hesitant back in December about marking this past Christmas in any shape or form, it seems odd that the biggest, most prominent sign of the holiday is still hanging tough in my living room. Even I'm surprised by my renewed attachment to this glistening pine. Just a few weeks back, I chose to shun its festive spirit, but now I find comfort in it like a security blanket.
I just don't have the heart to pack it away. As much as I wanted 2010 to be gone forever, a part of me wants to hang on for dear life. 2010 will be the last year that I hugged my Mum, heard her beautiful voice, and saw the love she had for me in her eyes. I'll never get that sweet comfort ever again. Every day is one more step farther away from her.
It's true that the move into any new year brings with it a collection of regrets, hopes and remembrances, but when you're still raw from loss, everything seems more vivid, more heartbreaking. 2011, at least for the first few months, will continue to be as upsetting as 2010. The one year anniversary of Mum's death is nearing with every day - it will be the last of the first-year milestones, and the most poignant one of all. So perhaps it does make sense why I'm dragging my feet regarding my Christmas tree. If I can delay the inevitable even by a day or two, perhaps I can feel a little bit closer to my Mum. It may sound silly but right now, it just makes sense.
In a few short hours, 2010 will be making its hasty exit while 2011 clamors to take pride of place.
New Year's Eve has never been an occasion that I'm particularly fond of. Going out was always too fraught with stress ... reservations that were never properly honoured, the battle to capture a taxi... it always made more sense to stay in at my Mum's.
This year will be the first New Year's in a very long time - gosh, we're talking decades - that I haven't marked this milestone in her company.
Unlike many people my age, I never had an issue with spending these holidays with my Mum. She was always so much fun to be around. She loved to play board games, eat calorie-laden naughty foods that you only cook up on such nights, and don silly, sparkly cardboard hats festooned with 'Happy New Year'! We would all struggle to keep our eyelids from closing prematurely but somehow, someway we would just about make it. New Year's Day was always greeted with a brunch of epic proportions: pancakes, bacon, toast, a frittata... and lots of Christmas cookies. We'd watch the Rose Bowl parade, play more games and dip into some of the DVDs that we received from Santa.
This year will be the first New Year's that I am at home - at my own abode. I really cannot shove 2010 out the door fast enough, for this year was the one that took away my beautiful Mum, and for that crime it has surely overstayed its welcome.
Dealing with the loss of a loved one can be difficult at the best of times but when Christmas arrives in all its finery on your emotional doorstep, your heart is inevitably greeted with even more painful moments.
Take movies for instance... most motion pictures created for the holiday season are full of warm remembrances, love-filled reunions and clarity of thought -- all subjects that are difficult to embrace when you're missing someone who you will never see again.
As much as it feels out of character, I've chosen to avoid some of my usual December celluloid picks ("One Magic Christmas", "The Homecoming", "The Christmas Box", and "Little Women" - the Liz Taylor version, Mum's favourite) because I'm just too raw for their stories right now. And let's not forget the animated Rankin & Bass classics - they're even more of an emotional minefield ("Nestor the Long Earred Donkey", anyone? "Ears, Nestor.").
The common thread in all these movies: their themes, all so beautiful and moving... and yes, I watched them all with my Mum. She loved each and every one of them. Atop of my avoid-at-all-costs TV viewing list is "The Family Stone". The last part of the story, after all the hilarity and family hi-jinx... well, if you've seen this funny yet touching film, you'll know why. The tree decorating scene at the end... heartbreaking, and right now too close to home.
So for this year while I *try* my best to partake and honour Christmas like my Mum would want me to, I'm sticking within the cinematic safety zone of Will Ferrell's "Elf" and "Love Actually." I'm not sure yet how I will fare with these flicks. I'm a big softie, and can cry at just about anything. Yes, I have been known to tear up during both of these favourites, but at least I'm hoping that I'll be able to stir clear of a full-fledged waterfall. I can't promise, but I'll try.
I was told it would be tough.
The first Christmas following the loss of someone so deeply cherished and loved.
I feel like I'm inhabiting someone else's body. Christmas is my favourite time of the year. Always has been. Normally, my tree is up just as our city's Santa Claus parade is wrapping up on TV. I strive to send out Christmas cards no later than December 1st, and search the shops early for the perfect gift wrap, and bows. Cookie baking is a joy, especially as my annual batch of chocolate chip just happen to be my Mum's favourite.
But not this year.
Dragging our tree out of storage and painstakingly taking a full day to decorate its branches - my heart wasn't in it. I was happy to be reunited with all my favourite baubles but they deserved more than me going through the motions while I hung them in their pride of place. Instead of hopeful anticipation, I felt sad, detached. Melancholy.
The tree has been up now for a few weeks and surprisingly, I have all my shopping done (albeit from all online sources - I didn't have the heart to dig through all the cheery crowds in person). On the surface, this holiday appears to be just like all the others. The outside packaging is full of festive spirit and no one is none the wiser. Inside, however, my heart aches from the constant weariness of missing my Mum. All the tinsel and fairy lights wrapped around my tree won't make it heal anytime soon. And those cookies? I haven't been able to cross that threshold yet. Without Mum to enjoy their warm gooey brilliance, it all feels somewhat half-baked.
Sunday, May 9 is Mother's Day in Canada, the US and Australia.
For several weeks, I've been avoiding the abundance of Mother's Day shop displays at all costs. For a daughter who year after year loved & participated in this annual tribute to our Mums, it's a strange reaction to have.
It feels foreign. It feels wrong. I feel like an orphan while everyone else celebrates this meaningful occasion.
I'm on the cusp of the two month mark. The approach of Mother's Day is making my sadness & loneliness feel even more raw - if that's at all possible. I feel like an outsider looking in on a beloved milestone that was always a highlight on my calendar.
Posts
I must apologize for my prolonged absence on my blog. 2013 has been a truly difficult year. My father passed away in the spring after a short battle with the same cancer that claimed my mother's life. 
