Dear Richard,
It’s Christmas.
You’re not here. It’s not the same without you.
No country ham. We did have bacon, nice and crispy but not burnt.
Sarah passed out the gifts. You weren’t sitting cross-legged on the floor to get yours. Your stocking was empty. Unless you count all the thoughts of love that we sent out to you.
It was a nice morning – sort of.
Not as nice as the twenty-two Christmas mornings that we had you here with us.
And we didn’t go to the farm. Your uncle Stuart had to have back surgery a week ago and he can’t travel much. So we went to his house this time. You probably would have enjoyed it, even though you don’t like to change our traditions. They have a pool table and Foosball. There was a lot of heated compitition – just the way you like it.
Merry Christmas son.
We miss you.
Love,
Dad
3 responses to “Christmas Morning 2009”
Hello Joe – I am deeply touched by your blog and what you and your family have been through this year. I stumbled on your site by googling “grief sucks.” I’ve read every page you’ve written and have experienced some very similar things. My grief has been life-long with a father that died when I was 10 and my mom when I was 24. I lost many, many friends to HIV in the 80’s and early 90’s and just a few days ago lost a close friend to cancer. Sometimes I feel like I have a Ph.D. in Grief. When I was 10 I didn’t know of one other child who had lost a parent and although was surrounded by loving people felt so alone in my grief. I’ve found that when I lose anyone close to me I revisit and re-feel the previous losses. The waves come over me and I surrender. I have no choice. Surprisingly, I am a very happy person who completely LOVES life most of the time. I am grateful for that. I am also grateful for all that you have expressed here. It helped me tonight to connect with your situation and how you are going through it with eyes wide open – noticing, feeling, loving, expressing. There is no end to grief or to love – and both must exist.
Love to you and your family,
Misty Shatto
Arlington, TX
Hi Joe,
Thank you for writing us at mysteryoriley a few days ago. No one can know the loss of a child, but another parent, and so, you found us.
This was our third Christmas without Owen, and while it wasn’t exactly easier, it was different. I think we all laughed easier, enjoyed food easier, and took photos as though we would not be missing him…but we were. Opening gifts was probably the hardest part of the day, because we didn’t have any gifts for Owen, and he loved Christmas. I thought of him throughout the day, cried when I couldn’t stop the tears, and left the room several times so as to avoid the averted eyes of the rest of the family.
Plenty of people would question why it is still so hard, and I can’t explain it, nor do I have any need to share this loss more than two and a half years later to anyone who’s not in the “know”. It’s really quite simple…I miss him still, and always will. Each member of our family handles their loss of Owen in their own way, and I can only honor their experiences as uniquely “their own”.
I send you hopes and dreams for the future of your family, in the knowledge that Richard was a special person in your lives. He lives on in your hearts, in your minds, to be sure.
Happy New Year, Joe. It’s not the year you had planned, but it is a new year with new hope in new and unknown ways.
In light and love,
Linda
@Misty
I’m sorry you’ve had to learn about grief in such a personal, hands-on way. That you are still a happy person gives me hope that someday I’ll consider myself a happy person once again. I think “being happy” won’t mean the same things it used to mean though. Thanks for sharing your story.
@Linda
From reading your story and hearing the experiences of other bereaved parents, I know we’ll never “get better.” But we will learn to deal with it. The big Richard photo montage we got from the funeral home is on the wall beside our Christmas tree. Every time I look at the tree I see Richard. I’ve thought of taking down Richard’s pictures for awhile. So we wouldn’t be reminded of him so much. But we decided on that first night we wouldn’t try to hide from the pain. That we’d live this grief. So the pictures stay. Besides, I’d see Richard’s smiling face when I look at the tree, even if there were no pictures of him in the room. Happy new year to you and your family Linda.