It’s been a while since I’ve written. Not since I almost burnt down our house. We’ve been busy, sort of. I mean, as busy as one can be in the middle of a pandemic. But we’ve also been struggling a little bit more than normal. (Not that we are constantly struggling or anything, we do alright, but sometimes, say around holidays, the pain, loneliness and abnormalness (yes, I’m aware that’s not a word) of the whole situation hits a little harder than at other times.) The days leading up to the holidays were tough, to say the least.

I think last year we were in such a state of numbness after Ash’s passing that we almost didn’t notice the holidays. We just got through them and we didn’t think about any of our pain or what our future as a family of 3 looks like or that our husband and father will never celebrate anything with us again. (Here I go again with the dramatics, except I’m not being dramatic, I’m being factual. It just so happens that the facts are pretty fucking dramatic.)

This holiday season, the numbness has definitely worn off and we are wholly aware of every feeling exactly when we’re feeling it. Which is good, right? Healthy? It’s just, as mom to these 2 pretty cool (albeit slightly annoying – I’m not afraid to call a spade a spade) boys, seeing their pain is the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life. My boys have had more breakdowns in this last month than they probably have had all year. And what can I say to them? How can I help them? I can’t even imagine what it must be like to be 11 years old or 6 years old and not have your dad. I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m 38 and I still have both my parents and can’t imagine being without either one. How must they feel? Also, I’m it. Me. I’m solely responsible for them. And I’m not so much the sanest of humans on the planet! How did they draw the short straw? It’s just not fair. And I know life is not fair. But this is our life and I want my boys to have the best life possible because we, of anyone, know how finite it is and how quickly it can end. And I know they are not the only children in the world to face tragedy and great pain, but they are mine. And their pain is my pain. Their tragedy is my tragedy. Their world is my world.

The weeks leading up to Christmas were hard. I have to admit, there was no part of the holidays that I was looking forward to, other than them being over. I *tried* not to let my children see that because they’re young and still find Christmas to be magical. But they had they’re own feelings. Many tears were shed at the kitchen table this month. Many conversations about Ash were had at the kitchen table this month. My boys miss their dad so damn much. Hell, we watched The Christmas Chronicles 2, which, lets face it, was a pretty shitty movie, and my very stoic, very quiet, very not let anyone see how I feel at any given moment unless it involves losing a baseball game oldest son burst into tears at the end when the new blended family was standing on the beach holding hands singing “Oh Christmas Tree”. Which leads me back to I can’t imagine how both my children must feel knowing they will never see their father again.

With all that said, however, Christmas came and it was nothing short of spectacular. Both boys dubbed it the best Christmas they’ve ever had. We laughed. A lot. We enjoyed our family. We enjoyed each other. And they were both more grateful than I can ever remember them being. We did it. Again. We made it through. We even enjoyed ourselves.

Following immediately after Christmas is Jack’s birthday. It was a good day filled with his favorite breakfast, some skatepark action, a beautiful sunset that just the 2 of us got to enjoy together and some low-key family time. But once the high of all the pizza, cake and presents wore off, those big, big feelings returned to Jack. He got out of the shower and just hugged the hell out of me, tears filling his eyes. I asked him what was the matter. Told him to talk to me. His answer: Mama, I loved my birthday, thank you so much for everything. But it’s so hard to have such a perfect and happy day and daddy not be here for it. I miss him.

And let me tell you, there’s no manual on how to handle that. I hugged him tight, tears pooling in my eyes, told him I missed daddy, too. I told him how much I love him, what an amazing son he is. And we just hugged. It was heartbreaking but maybe also heart healing. These kids of mine have been through so much, they have felt some pretty shitastic pain. But they are getting through it. I’m so proud that they are strong enough to let go of their pain, to shed some of those big, big feelings, because lord knows, especially being my children, letting our feelings be known is not the easiest thing in the world for us. We don’t love to be vulnerable or appear weak. But grieving is not weakness. And it never goes away. We are learning it’s ok to be sad and it’s ok to be happy. Ash certainly would want us to feel equal parts of both. But he most definitely wants us to be happy, to celebrate, and to move on with our lives. And we are.

I think really great things are on the horizon for all of us (sorry for being so melodramatic and cliche-y here but it just is what it is). I should probably (definitely) knock on some wood…