Family

Easter is just a few days away. It is another holiday I plan to ignore. But that is hard to do. Like Thanksgiving and Christmas, Easter is a time that is filled with references to family in newspapers, television, and radio. Even billboards and retail stores are filled with references to the holiday. Holidays, however, are for families. For those of us without, they are hard. The memories are bittersweet because there is no family left to enjoy holidays with. Ever. The years loom bleakly ahead.

Then again maybe my grief is just too new. Maybe holidays will get better. Maybe I can establish new traditions on my own. Maybe. I do understand that family is who and what you make it. Families these days do not have to biologically related to you. I think, though, when your life expectations of having children and grandchildren are suddenly taken from you, that the adjustment is harder than if you never had those expectations at all.

I try. I try to smile when other people talk of their families, their siblings, and kids and nieces and nephews. I try not to cry. This issue is, after all, mine. I do not harbor grudges for the joy others have. I am happy for them. Being sad for me is a separate issue and I am glad I can make the distinction.

I never expected life to be so hard. So grueling. I know this is what life must have been like for Colby, living with untreated mental illness. He felt so bleak about the future, about any possibilities of positive happenings, of success. Yet he managed to smile. He was able to be happy for others. I can do the same. I just have to dig deeper, try harder. And I will. Somehow. I will.

Easter

Ugg. Today I go grocery shopping. I just put the last item into my cart and round a corner. There smack in front of me is a display of Easter candy. My heart stops, my stomach sinks to my knees and I begin to cry. This will be the first Easter in 25 years that I have not made an Easter basket for Colby.

Each year I went to special lengths to create a basket for him that was a mix of candy, toys and a special surprise. I put a lot of thought into it and always tried to out-do the basket from the year before. When Colby became a teen, he began making a basket for me. Of course we had to hide the baskets from each other. It was fun on Easter morning to try to find our basket, and hope that the dog or cat had not gotten to it first!

Some of Colby's more memorable hiding places were behind the toilet in the spare bathroom, in the mailbox, under a bucket in the basement, and in the clothes dryer. Now, staring at the display, I realize I will never make my son another Easter basket, and I will never receive another from him.

Easter has suddenly become another day that I dread, just like Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's, Mother's Day, my birthday, his birthday, and a host of other days I wish would just get get wiped off the face of the Earth so I didn't have to deal with them. Another day I have to avoid in weeks leading up to it because the cutesy ads and decorations are a harsh reminder that Colby is gone. Another day that other people get to enjoy with their family and I get to sit in a corner and cry.

I realize I can't face going through the checkout line. I leave my groceries in the cart in the middle of the aisle and sit in the truck until the shaking has stopped enough so I can drive home. I hate Easter.