Holidays

Today I buy a card for my mom, write a note in it and send it to her for Grandparent's Day. It takes me an hour to write three lines and I cry the entire time. Colby should be here to do this and some part of me can't fathom that he's not. I'm not sure how I will get through another "holiday" less than a week after the last one. I do not want to become one of these embittered people who hate celebrations, hate holidays, but I can see how easily one could become a person like that.

Holidays and celebrations are for people with families. Colby's passing is so new, so raw, that I try not to feel jealous, devastated, enraged, bitter, overwhelmed, when people this week show me photos of their children, grandchildren; when they tell me they ate lunch at their grandchild's school; when they say what a great parent their son, daughter, is. Those are all activities I had looked forward to; now they are things I will never do.

I try to be happy for them, proud for them, to share their joy, but I am still so overwhelmed with grief I don't even come close. The key for me is to stay busy, to work, to be physically active, so I get on Colby's bike and pedal, pedal, pedal through the neighborhood. My brain is quickly consumed with curbs, dips, humps, speed bumps, traffic, dogs. I ride up and down hills until I am completely exhausted, until my legs are shaky, until my bum knee aches. After, I feel better. I feel guilty for my earlier mood, for that is not normally my nature.

The next big event is September 30, Colby's birthday. That gives me 21 days to figure out a way to get through the day. By then I am sure to have come up with something positive and productive I can do in honor and memory of my son.