My First Christmas Without My First Born

I was dreading my first Christmas without Connor like the plague.  I went through all the motions of putting up a tree and decorations, but I was the furthest I could ever be from “in the holiday spirit”.  I used to start listening to Christmas music as soon as Thanksgiving was over. In fact, we used to decorate the tree Thanksgiving night.  Not this year.    I hung his stocking where I always did, but found myself wondering what it would look like Christmas morning with nothing in it.   The tree was decorated in generic ornaments as I couldn’t bring myself to see the ornaments – his ornaments – that he would hang each year.  You know, the “baby’s first Christmas” one or the ones he made when he was little.  Nope.  Generic was the way to go this year.

Christmas Eve was the worst.  I went through all the motions of baking and prepping, including making Connor’s favorite butterscotch oatmeal cookies.  I tried to trick myself into thinking he was away at a friend’s house or was just unable to make it this year, but the harsh reality would soon come back and I would break down into a visceral ugly cry.   Then, I’d pull myself together and wrap some presents, but none were for him, so I’d break down again….and again…and again.  

I’m so grateful for my husband who caught me each time I fell and let me soak multiple shirts.  But, after the third or fourth time, I thought there must be a better way to get through this.  I ultimately looked up and prayed for peace and comfort.  I’d never done that before, but I was open to trying anything to make it just stop.  And, to my delight and surprise, it did.  I was so relieved, but also so fearful of the next trigger.  I wasn’t sure how long a comfort and peace prayer would last so what did I do?  I opened a bottle of champagne (something Connor and I had started a tradition doing on the holidays) and drank it.  It was the numbing agent I needed.  I’m not proud, but I had to make the pain stop. 

Of course, the head pain I felt the next morning was a reminder that I’m not impervious to the side effects of said numbing agent, but I felt like I’d gotten through the worst of it.  And I had.   Christmas Day was better.   We did not host dinner for the first time in nearly twenty years.  I just couldn’t.  Instead, we went to my aunt’s house and then came home, took down the decorations and put them away.  As far as I was concerned, my first Christmas without my first born was done and I couldn’t have been happier about that. ∞

Have you ever just been done after a holiday?  Or not celebrated at all?