steak dinners, luther vandross, and deep deep grief

This season has been incredibly hard for me.  There have been several things that have just been looming over my head, my mind, my thoughts.  But in the self-protective way that I do, I push it under the surface and pretend that everything is okay.  I move on.  I keep going.  I have become pretty good at acting, pretty good at pretending that this isn’t killing me. 

Two and a half years later and I still can’t really come to grips with the fact that you’re actually gone.  That it really is over.  That I won’t ever  see you here again.  I can go into “fact mode” and discuss it.  I can talk about details and what happened.  But when I do, it is shallow.  It is from a third party perspective. It isn’t personal.  I don’t feel a connection to it, it is as if I am telling a story about someone else, but it is even more impersonal than that.  I suppress the hurt, the pain, the grief.  I push it aside.  I cant tell the story no problem. 

At Kylie’s school recently I had a mom ask me questions about how you died.  And I easily went into the story.  It was no problem and I felt nothing at all.  There was no personal connection to it at all.  I told her how you died in your sleep.  I told her how I went into action mode, I called people, I notified everyone, I talked to the medical examiner.  I made Dad eat.  I did all of that.  I was the adult.  I took care of everyone.  And it was mostly easy to talk about.  It is easier to pull myself out of it than to accept the reality. But really?  I died a little that day.  Calling people killed me.  Hearing everyone’s grief, all of their reactions, those notifications killed me in a way that I shouldn’t have had to experience.  This shouldn’t have been my job.  But it was.  And since it was, I have to remove myself from that pain because it is just too much to bear.  I just can’t really handle it.  It still isn’t real.  You being gone, mom, just can’t be real.

A few days after that instance at the school, I was in the kitchen washing dishes when the dog started barking.  The first thought that went through my head was that perhaps we had a surprise visitor.  The first person I hoped it was?  You.  In one instant I had true real hope that you were at my door and in those nanoseconds in my brain I had a full rollercoaster of emotions.  Hope to see you.  Reality of you being gone.  Sadness of missing you.  Feeling like an idiot for forgetting.  And crashing into despair that I’ll never see you here again.  All of this happened in an instant but it was so real.  Once again I had to bury it.  That rollercoaster was way too heavy to be able to deal with.  I can’t handle that disappointment, that reality.

Christmas Eve service was outside.  It was dusk.  I was standing at our seats with the kids when a woman gasped in horror and then said my name with relief.  For an instant she thought I was you.  And she went on a little of the rollercoaster that I had gone on that night where I thought you might be at my door.  And the moments after might have been a little awkward for both of us, but I found myself comforting her, and again assuring her that I was okay.  I took care of her.  I removed myself again from my own pain and took care of this sweet woman.  It has become my role, to care for others who have lost you.

I did my best this season to not mourn you, to not miss you.  I tried hard to pretend like it was all okay.  But somehow you kept coming up in every situation.  The past week or so I have been dreading today.  New Year’s Eve.  You and Dad’s anniversary.  New Years Eve was always about you two.  And I don’t mean that in a bad way, either.  It was a happy day and I loved how special it was for the two of you.  I just keep having this flashback of this memory I have, my favorite New Year’s Eve memory.  I can’t get past it, can’t get it out of my mind. 

We were in the Continental Ranch house, I had to be in middle school.  It was before you redid the house.  We were in those big rolling chairs at the kitchen table.  It was your anniversary, New Years Eve, but you guys decided to spend it with us.  We were having a candlelit dinner. It was steak, but I don’t remember what else was on our plates.  Dad had gotten new thick blown glass wine glasses from Five Bridges, I think, and we had Martinelli’s in them. Dad whisked you into the dimly lit living room to dance to Luther Vandross with you. 

I remember feeling embarrassed to be witnessing this intimate moment between the two of you.  You guys slow dancing in the near dark to your wedding song, I was wishing to be anywhere else, wishing that you guys had the privacy you deserved.  But there was also a part of me that felt happy.  Happy that you guys loved each other, happy that you didn’t hide it, and hopeful that someday I would find a man who would slow dance with me and romance me that way. 

But now I am so glad that I have that moment to remember.  I am so glad that you shared that evening with us.  It is really truly one of my absolute favorite memories.  I have had a heavy heart for a couple days…I have been deeply missing you.  As I have been trying to hold the tears at bay, I have also been able to reminisce on this one particular memory.  This memory isn’t tainted by any sadness.  It makes me smile every time I think of it. 

I can hear the words of the song in my head.  I can see you swaying to the music.  I can almost feel the butterflies in your stomach, the smile on your heart.  It makes me long to go back there…to not only remember it, but to experience it again.  To hear you, to see you, for you to be real.  For you to not be a distant fading memory anymore, a topic that I avoid, a non-personal fact.  I want you to go back to being my mom. To dancing in the dark with Dad.  To being Kylie’s best friend.  To being our rock and supporter.  To fighting for the hearts of my family.  To being a prayer warrior for us. 

I need you to help explain to me why.  Why would you take a risk like this?  Why would you choose that medication when you knew the risks? In order for me to really be able to process this, to be able to accept it, I need to be able to talk to you.  You are the only person who can help me through this and you are also the only person who can’t be here to help me through it.  I think this is why I feel so lost about it all.  This is why I have to make it a fact, an impersonal and unattached fact.  But you can’t stay that way.  Because fact is, I ache for you.  I miss you so deeply that everything about me is scarred by the loss of you.  I am no longer me, I am a numb, cold,  robot version of who I used to be.  I long to go back to candlelit steak dinners with you and Dad dancing to Luther Vandross.  I long to curl up in your bed and watch movies with you.  I hurt, mom.  I hurt without you and I don’t know how to keep going.  I feel stuck and trapped here and I don’t know how to change that.    

This mama bear ain’t hibernating!

Contrary to the obnoxious preteen and teen that I was, I am not confrontational.  I have become a doormat, I don’t stand up for myself, and I allow myself to get hurt.  I allow other people’s words to cut and I just turn the other way.  This may be true of me now, but when it comes to my kids I am a fierce mama bear and no matter what, I will not allow anyone to hurt them nor rip away their innocence. 

I have been given the gift of my children’s hearts and I will be a mighty warrior to protect them.  If that means I have to stand up to someone, I will.  If that means I jump in front of a bullet, I will. If this means I have to confront other parents, I most certainly will. 

 I want to keep their innocence as long as possible.  They have their whole lives to be adults, to be grown-ups.  I want them to be kids as long as possible.  That being said, they do have chores and responsibilities because building character is also an important part of raising a child. 

 The topic of Santa can be somewhat controversial in the Christian community.  Some say it takes away from the Savior’s birth, some say it is too “secular”.  To an extent that might be true, but how is it any different from meeting Mickey at Disneyland? He isn’t Christ-centered, he isn’t “real”.  But to the kids he is, and there is magic and innocence there.  There is joy that comes from that innocence. 

 We had originally decided not to participate in the Santa charade.  I mean, why give a chubby old man in a suit credit for our hard work?  Why lie to my kids when it is only going to break their hearts later?   I mean, Santa should be going to jail for a B and E anyway, right?  Not to mention….how many strange old men do you trust to hold your children on their laps?  Have you checked watch dog for Santa?  No?  Exactly.  It doesn’t quite add up.  Any other man who persuades little kids to sit on their laps with the promise of a gift at the end would be shipped off and registered.  But not Santa. 

 But guess what?  Kylie came home from kindergarten (her first time…public school) and had learned all about Santa.  And there was excitement, expectations, and joy in that little five year-old’s face.  That magic, that innocence was so tangible and real that we could not possibly break it.  It was important to us to let the girl dream.  We did discuss it; we did toss back and forth different ideas and try to make the best decision for our family.  And that was letting our kids believe in Santa.  It has been so precious to watch their excitement and see that magic.  It has been an amazing gift to us to be able to participate in blessing our children this way.

 I would not do it differently.  I am glad we chose this.  It brings a smile to my own face to be able to be part of this.  My kids are still grateful, generous kids filled with love for others, and love for Jesus.  Santa hasn’t robbed them of any of that.  This year we started the elf on the shelf and the excitement every morning to go find the elf is just as precious as their excitement for Santa.  It makes me wish that I could be a kid again.  It makes me long for my innocence, too.

 One reason why I am so intent on protecting my kid’s innocence is because mine was ripped away from me at an early age.  This isn’t a topic I share with just anyone, and I am not going to go into details, but because of my life experiences I choose to protect my kids to the very best of my ability.  And this is also one of the reasons why I choose to run a daycare.  Some of my issues came from a daycare setting and I have sacrificed a ton to keep my children out of any kind of daycare.  I have been extra careful how I choose my babysitters and who I allow into my kids’ lives.  I work hard to create a safe and happy place for not only my kids but others as well.  And I fall in love with any kid that is in my care.  I will also protect them with my mother bear love.  They deserve innocence too.  Every child deserves innocence and magic in their lives.  Every kid deserves to be a kid. 

 Santa was somewhat outed this year to Kylie from a girl at school.  I had a little panic attack, and didn’t want her to grow up.  But my 7 year-old, decided to hold on to her innocence.  She really didn’t even question it, in fact, she was very worried that this other girl might not get presents for Christmas.  She wanted this other girl to have joy and magic in her life, too.  Her deep concern was so special to me and I knew that we had not harmed her by choosing to participate in Santa. 

 All this being said, Santa is each family’s choice and of course I respect your choice.  But please do not let your lack of magic ruin my kids’ innocence and magic.  I might have to go mama bear on you and trust me, you do not want to see that.  Really.  You don’t. 

 Anyhow…merry Christmas from the Salgado’s, Buddy the Elf, and Santa even if you’re a non-believer! .....just try to keep your non-believing kids away from mine! ;-)