Like this title? Yeah, me neither. It's not great. In fact, it's the worst. And it's not just missing him, or mourning that he is gone, but it's the lead up, the not being able to buy presents, and not knowing what to do with his stocking, and not knowing how to honor him. I have spent the past 6 weeks racking my brain for what would be best, and the answer is, nothing, really.... It all sucks. IT ALL SUCKS.
But - we have Logan to think about, and each other. Logan is still very much alive and deserves a good childhood and magical christmases. So what did we do?
Well, last Friday, the 22nd, I posted my blog and went for a run. At the very end of it, and I'm talking less than a 10th of a mile left, I passed these sweet little old ladies and nodded and smiled and promptly tripped and fell on my face. It felt like it happened in slow motion, I could see the pavement coming closer and closer until I knew I would fall. I spread out my hands and went down. I felt the fingers on my right hand bend back and knew I had some damage. I lay there, rolling around and cradling my hand. Meanwhile, these sweet old ladies came up and kept asking me if I was okay, while I'm squirming around ing utter agony, not able to talk just yet. I did hear one of them say, "That's why it's so important to look where you are going." Thanks a lot, sweet old lady...
When you go through physical shock like that, it takes your body a minute to try to recalibrate and figure out what exactly happened. I thought I broke my hand, but bit by bit I could feel it again, even though I knew something was terribly wrong. I declined their offer to call an ambulance and let them help me to my feet. I hobbled home, clutching my broken hand and crying openly. I gathered my things and headed to the urgent care across the street from my house, only to discover they closed at 2pm that dat. It was 1:59pm 😭 Paul was at work, so I had to uber to the other urgent care in downtown Bayside. Long story short, 3 urgent care visits later I was diagnosed with a broken ring finger and two sprained fingers on my dominant hand, 3 days before Christmas. Fucking perfect. By the grace of HP I had already wrapped most of the presents, so I didn't have to agonize over that.
I just took a many hour break because it is taking forever to write this with one finger on my right hand (although my brain has adapted rather quickly).
Christmas Eve Eve I was able to go to Bay Ridge (where we used to live) to have breakfast with my friends and then go to my former AA home group. I was glad I went, but I knew I was going to get sick because of all the coughing and sneezing and nose blowing and NO MASKS, because we learned nothing from Covid... but I was really sad that day. Christmas Eve was worse. I was so fucking sad all day and couldn't stop crying all throughout the day. Not like continuous, but never very long between cries. I was able to make my cinnamon rolls, and Logan and Paul helped! I couldn't do the normal roll style (individual rolls) so we rolled out the dough, spread on butter, brown sugar, and cinnamon, and cut them up. they were actually pretty good, and I even made icing, to appease my husband. That night we read the classic "The Night Before Christmas" with Logan, put out Logan's big presents (a bright red scooter as the main event), made sure Santa ate his cookies and drank his milk, stuffed the stockings and went to bed.
The next morning we slept in until like 7:30am, and then the festivities began. I set out our big photo of Teddy and lit several candles for him. Logan was actually all about opening his presents, although he doesn't know yet to look for his name, so if he saw it he tried to tear the wrapping off. Standouts included the scooter and the slinky - yes, the classic metal one that we all used to spend hours mesmerized by. The good things never change...
Paul had been working on this huge project for me, which turned out to be a USB drive full of all his (and everyone else he could track down) photos and videos of Teddy, along with a big digital picture frame that cycles through them. I have been getting mesmerized by it since we switched in on 3 days ago. Sometimes it hurts, but most of the time I can look at the photos and smile. He was the happiest, cheekiest baby. And he loved us and we loved him SO much.
That afternoon we went to Paul's brother's house to spend Christmas with the family, and I was so glad we did. I couldn't stand the thought of spending another sad evening at home. It was loud, full of children and food, and the present mayhem was . . . total mayhem! My SIL gives the best gifts. She got Logan this amazing robot that dances and talks and walks in all directions. Logan was totally enamored with it. And then she sat us down - my father-in-law and his partner, my mother-in-law and her partner, and my brother-in-law - and gave us our gifts. The family had gone to Build-A-Bear and made us Teddy Bears with blue eyes, and when you squeeze his hand, it plays Teddy's laugh. I sobbed. It was such a heart-felt gift, and that tribute to Teddy was so needed. They had also made a Christmas ornament for him, with his picture and a fluffy white bird feather inside. She had also, without us even asking, left a chair at the table for him. We set his picture and candle there so he could be with us. GODDAMN I MISS HIM. He should be here. I would rather be cleaning up and tearing my hair out because he doesn't want to go to bed than writing this.
As we drove home, I could feel the sickness that I knew had been coming start, and by the end of our 2-hour marathon of putting Logan to bed and my FaceTime with my, my voice had left the building. I got it back today, but I'm still coughing, sneezing, head-aching, body-soring, and runny-nosing with the best of them. And I am so sad. And so fucking tired. So tired of waking up every day without Teddy. So tired of having to explain to Logan that he won't die when the sun goes down. So tired of ... everything. I don't have school to distract me now. Just my murder shows and Logan.
I will say that my favorite gifts were Teddy-centered. There were ornaments mostly, and my best friend wrote him a letter and gave him her precious cup from when she was a baby and has used in Jewish tradition every year, and Paul got me these really sweet Christmas decorations, one of which is a little train that holds a tea light that I will use to decorate Teddy's alter next year.
I was hurt that almost no one addressed Teddy in our Christmas cards. I think maybe people are afraid to upset us or to say the wrong thing, or to see our grief. I get that. But what hurts the most is not saying anything. I would rather have you say, "Man, I wish Teddy were here!" or, "Wow, Teddy would have loved that cake!" instead of not saying anything. And I want to let you know that it's not your fault if I cry, and definitely not your responsibility to try to make me feel better. There is literally nothing that can ease this pain, and when the waves come they crash all over me, but then the tide goes back out and I can breathe again. The best thing to do is just to be there. To hear me, to see my pain and bear witness.
This is the Teddy Bear gift from Maura:
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