So,,,,,,,Christmas

Up until this weekend you wouldn't have known it was Christmas, at least not at our house.  No decorations (inside or out), no tree, no Christmas cards or the annual Hassett newsletter going out to family and friends, no rum balls - we just haven't had the heart or the energy.  But Friday Alex & Amy came home and Christmas came out, if only a shadow of it's former self.  That's one of the problems with grief, you re-evaluate all your old traditions; which ones do you keep, which do you discard, which do you change or reinvent?  It doesn't feel right to repeat them as if Ian was still here, it's somehow disrespectful; but you don't want to completely disregard those things that are full of memories and brought you so much joy - that seems to negate his life and all he meant to us. So Friday afternoon, we went in search of a Christmas tree - not too big, not too small but large enough to hold most of the ornaments we had collected over the last 23 years.  We found the perfect $20 tree at Home Depot.  The first words out of the guys mouth when we entered the lot was, "$20 bucks - any tree on the lot".  Eric promptly went to the largest tree they had and actually was enjoying himself (nothing makes him happy like a 'deal').  After some searching we found our tree - not too big and not too small.  Then Alex & Amy got the boxes down from the attic.  Two boxes of ornaments full of memories.  I had been dreading this moment; opening up Ian's ornaments and the memories that each ornament brought.  We placed all Ian's ornaments aside until the very end - his firemen wreath, the glass ones we made one year, his baby cradle, the piano, his bowl of udon noodles, etc.  Our new 'red robin' ornament went near the top then we realized that we didn't have our traditional angel for the top of the tree (it wasn't in the boxes that came down from the attic) so a new traditional was born.  A memory ornament that was made for us by my friend Julie became the perfect Christmas tree 'angel' for our tree - it was exactly the right thing at exactly the right moment.

Today was Sunday and all of us were at church together, everyone except Ian but then Ian hadn't gone with us to church for several years.  The last few years of his life he struggled with questions about God and who He is and what role He plays in our lives so he stopped coming with us to church.  But I hold firm to God's promise that nothing can remove his children from his hand and Ian's decision to ask Jesus to be the Lord of his life when he was younger; I also remind myself of Ian's last words of wonder and amazement at the things he was seeing before he died.  Because of those promises, I thought, maybe Ian is with us this morning after all, worshiping the same God together - his surroundings are just more glorious than ours.  Even if I can't see the big picture or the blueprint that would show us why Ian died so young, Ian can and I can be content with that for now. It's so much more important that Ian knows the "why's" of God's plan and he can see and understand why God took him so soon.  I would imagine he is praising God for saving him from whatever his life would have held for him.

Part of the struggle with grieving is the daily battle to become 'better' and not 'bitter'.  You have to fight against the bitterness, it would be so easy to let it take over but I don't want that for myself or my family.  It's our choice and one we have to make daily. 

All roads lead back.....

It seems no matter what I'm thinking about, my thoughts always weave their way back to Ian.  Eric & I signed the papers today to establish a Trust along with Power of Attorneys and Durable Medical Power of Attorney; I'm reading through the medical papers (the usual - don't keep alive on machines, pull the plug, etc.) and my mind went back to when Ian had to sign a Do Not Resuscitate order while he was in the hospital before he died.  I was reading all the stipulations and thinking "these are the things Ian wanted as well" - I start crying at the weirdest times.

Then tonight, I was thinking about a call I got from Dr. DiCarlo about Alex's latest blood test results.  We were talking about sending his notes to our Primary doctor, who we really like and is very thorough and tests for everything.  I thought, I would much rather have a doctor who over-tests than one who overlooks things......leading back to Ian's doctor who didn't ask for a chest x-ray for weeks before he was diagnosed.  I know those couple of weeks probably wouldn't have made any difference but once again, all roads lead back to Ian.....and more crying.  Thankfully, I am blessed with a wonderful husband who understands when I cry at the most inappropriate times.

I thought I had been doing rather well today too, considering it's been 6 months exactly since Ian died.  This morning, I thought "I'm not doing too bad.  Maybe this anniversary won't hit me as hard as others have."  It's an odd feeling, like he died yesterday and ages ago at the same time.  It's just so hard to go through the day missing him so much.

Surrounding myself

I finally closed out Ian's bank account today....the one with all his money from "Ian's Wish" aka the 'Ian Hassett Memorial Art Scholarship'.  We finally got the okay from our CPA to transfer the money out to a separate account.  Do you know how embarrassing it is to cry at the teller's window?  I was doing fine, holding it together but then a classmates of Ian's came to the window to help with the transaction and my self-control kinda bit the dust.  It was just that final act of closing out his account cuz he's not here to use it.  The tellers were very sweet and even brought me a whole box of Kleenex but no matter how hard I tried to stop, no amount of deep breaths could stop the tears rolling down my face.  Such a silly, little thing but that's how it is with grief - the little things will trip you up.  I can only imagine what the other folks in the bank must have thought; I was losing my house, all my checks had bounced, who knows and I can't bring myself to care.

I'm trying to surround myself with things that I know are good for me; christian friends, going to church, bible study, but for me, it's mostly about the praise music.  The lyrics penetrate this fog of grief, almost every song I hear speaks directly to my heart; just like God intended.  Even though my heart isn't in it, I surround myself with these things because I believe they will seep in and one day when I'm not quite so numb, I'll be glad that I continued to feed my soul.

I'm making my way through John Piper's 'Suffering and the Sovereignty of God' (our grief counselor loaned it to us) but this book won't be usable again - the pages keep getting wet.  I found this poem by Martha Snell Nicholson both poignant and full of hope:

I stood a mendicant of God before His royal throne

And begged him for one priceless gift, which I could call my own.

I took the gift from out His hand, but as I would depart

I cried, "But Lord this is a thorn and it has pierced my heart.

This a is a strange, a hurtful gift, which Thou hast given me."

He said, "My child, I give good gifts and gave My best to thee."

I took it home and though at first the cruel thorn hurt sore,

As long years passed I learned at last to love it more and more.

I learned He never give a thorn without this added grace,

He takes the thorn to pin aside the veil which hides His face.

Seeing hope

We started our new Christmas tradition - donating money in Ian's memory to a non-profit organization that would benefit children in a third-world country.  We got the card today acknowledging that gift ~ is it weird that I sent myself a card?  One of these days I will get together with my scrapbooking friends and work on that scrapbook about all things Ian and I wanted to have a tangible memory of this first donation.  I started thinking about next Christmas and carrying on this tradition.  Then I had the thought - one more Christmas without Ian here, means one year closer to seeing him again.  Maybe if I think of it that way, it would be more bearable.


Eric & I have been talking about whether nor not to have a Christmas Day dinner like we did last year.  It was Ian's idea and he and I worked together to put the menu together.  It was also the first time we had everyone over for Christmas Day dinner, so it was a special event for our family.  I know I wrote down that menu somewhere so I started looking through our CaringBridge entries to see if I had shared it there.  I read those posts and I see such hope even in the midst of insurmountable odds.  I miss that woman.

I finally had the courage to start reading 'Suffering and the Sovereignty of God' by John Piper and Justin Taylor.  So far, so good but I'm only on page 3.  Baby steps towards being that woman again who always saw hope in the circumstances around her.