It’s the end of the year and I have zero idea how we are going to negotiate the next month with what it holds.
It is now 11 months since Pete died.
Yesterday, the kids found a photo on one of their devices I hadn’t seen before - it was taken on December 15, 2015.
And it caught me so much I felt it like I’d been punched - I’ve not been caught like that all year.
Until yesterday.
When I saw the photo all I could think of was how much I miss being looked at like that by that person with that smile and that love for me.
I’ve just been barrelling through the last little while quite (un)successfully ignoring what’s looming large next week. It’s been in my peripheral vision but I haven’t stared at it. I didn’t want to, so it didn’t. I just kept looking at my feet and putting one in front of the other.
The last month has been busy and exhausting and wonderful and tiring and I’ve been so proud and so utterly sad.
I’ve seen our second child finish primary school, watched with pride the kids performing in a school concert, given a school council President speech that had to acknowledge our school has lost 3 parents this year, delivered a major project at work, tried to do Christmas shopping, tried to get to all the end of year events, madly put together a work Christmas party skit, tried to sleep well (and failed), tried to support the kids as they start falling apart because it’s the end of the year and they are kids ... with the added bonus of them being grieving kids.
I’ve also been rude to people who have felt the need to tell me what we should do for Christmas.
If I hear the words: You should ... again, I’m probably going to scream.
I know it’s not being said to to be destructive; it’s being said as an attempt at helpful advice; it’s coming from a good place.
But the words ‘you should...’ at the minute are just adding to the very very long list of should, would, could, could not I’ve already got in my head ...
Christmas is looming large - so freaking large - in my head.
Apparently I should do something different, should do what we always do, should do a mix, should get right away, should just batten down the hatches, should spend it alone, should spend it with family, should find someone not family to have it with, should not host it, should find a way to host but not cook, should not put pressure on myself, should do whatever feels right, should take time to work out what we need...
Right now in my head I am already putting enough pressure on what it should all look like, thanks.
Because, you know what we should be doing?
We should be having Christmas with Pete.
It should be happy and wonderful.
It should not be us looking at the empty seat at the table, at the presents that say ‘love from mum’ and not ‘mum and dad’.
It should not be without him.
And so while everyone means well with the should’s ... I can’t handle more ‘you should’.
Nor can I do any more ‘you will get through it...’
Because I already know that. I’ve been doing that all year. Getting through it. Every. single. day. for the last 11 months.
But in the last month I’ve also had the most wonderful support to try and nurse me into the end of the year. People who can see the cracks beginning to show, who continue to turn up and just do a ‘sanity check’ on me. Men who have given me the most welcome hugs that just allow me to hold on to them and for them to wrap their arms around me to make sure I’m still standing upright (albeit they remind me of what I don’t have any more).
I will get through next Wednesday - I’m aiming to do that by making sure there are enough presents, food and alcohol, so irrespective of whether I’m falling apart and rocking in the foetal position during the day, the kids are happy and fed.
And then I will turn around and line up to see out the year and say farewell to 2019 and start a whole new year ... a year that will never ever have Pete in it.
And then a milestone birthday.
And then the anniversary of losing him.
Within 3 weeks.
And everyone just keeps reminding me I ‘just need to get through the first year’... the ‘year of firsts is the hardest’.
But I’m seriously scared about what happens when I wake up on January 21 and it’s still hard?
It’s not like I’ll wake up and go “well that was an interesting life experience, don’t fancy it again, but look, we survived...”
And the reality probably is, I’m completely petrified of January 21 because it’s been a goal to get to, to just get through a year - just work as hard as you can to get through and see out the year functioning, to get through our January 20 anniversary. I’ve held it up as the goal I just have to get to.
But once I’m there, and it’s still hard on January 21 - one year and one day later - what then? I can’t keep this level of functionality. It basically just been Adrenalin running me all year. I know that.
And it scares me to think about what the second year looks like.
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