“What’s
your New Year’s resolution?” You hear that question posed over and over
again, year after year the first few days and weeks into January; usually you
can expect to hear things like: to lose 15 lbs., to stop drinking soda,
to be more assertive, and things of the like. So, I’ve probably been
asked more than a dozen times already this week, and my answer has been the
same thing, I don’t have one. I didn’t make one and I don’t plan
to. Don’t get me wrong, I think New Year’s resolutions are a great tradition
and that it gives people a gentle nudge to start something, stop something, or
make a change in their life. My issue is that I feel like it implies that
you can only make a change once a year and if you haven’t begun by January 1st
or 2nd you’ve missed the boat, fell off the wagon, or any of
the other phrases made for instances where sometimes it’s as simple as:
You just weren’t ready.
I don’t
feel ready. The fact that the one-year mark is approaching fast blows my
mind while simultaneously breaking my heart. I don’t know why, but in my
head I have created this scenario where after one year I will wake up and all
will be right in my life. That January 26th, I will wake up
and the last year will not have forever changed who I am and what my life would
have been had Jack been with us along the way. But the pain in my heart
reminds me daily that there is not a timeline on grief. There is not an
expiration date to this feeling of missing part of yourself. I remember
that there is not a possible way for a mother to avoid heartache while being
apart from her child. The feeling will not go away with the passing of
365 days. More than anything though, I just don’t feel ready to accept
that a whole year has past and life really could go on without our precious
boy.
New
Year’s Eve I battled trying to stay positive while trying not to feel bitter as
I read post after post on Facebook, and scrolled through Instagram with
pictures remembering favorite moments of 2015, celebrating what a wonderful
year it had been for so many. Bitterness
is not a feeling I am at all comfortable with.
I do not begrudge these people I am friends with and care about so
deeply a happy year filled with wonderful memories. I myself, recall typing those same sentiments
after Sean and I had been married, when we bought our house, when Kennedy was
born, truly amazed by how wonderful life had been to us. So knowing how good it can be, it is just
tough to take all of that in when 2015 is shrouded in so much sadness for Sean
and I. We watched the ball drop and had
some good laughs with some good friends, while missing many more. I made it through with a brave face, Sean and
I sharing a kiss and a wish for a good year, and coming apart as the last
people left. But I made it.
We spent
the weekend on Long Island visiting family and collecting an excessive amount
of gifts for a spoiled little girl that is loved very much. During one particularly rough point in the
weekend I was crying in the car, doing my best to keep Kennedy from hearing
me. This perceptive little girl does not
miss one thing happening around her and asked me, “Mommy, how would you like to
go to Jackie’s special spot when we get home?
I bet that would make you feel better!”
I choked back a sob and said, “Sure, baby, that would be great.” Then this child, the one who I literally get
out of bed for everyday this last year, said, “You know, Daddy, Mommy just
really, really, misses our baby Jack.”
And there it was, simple as that.
My heart just really misses him.
And so I do not have a resolution. But I do have
resolve. As hard as it has been to make
it through the early months, and the tear-filled, sleepless nights, I have
somehow managed to survive. And resolve
is the only way I can explain that.
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