Fa la la la la, la la la NO

My mother was prepared for Christmas. Facing a holiday season filled with radiation and chemotherapy, she had completed her holiday cards, wrapped her presents, and had even purchased an outfit for the Christmas Eve church service. (I found it hanging on the back of her closet door after she died.) She was supposed to be here for Christmas. Dying wasn't part of her plan.

I wasn't prepared for Christmas. Sure, I completed all of my shopping, wrapped the gifts, purchased food. I went through all of the motions. As we drove to Christmas Eve service, we passed a SUV being driven by a man in a Santa Claus suit. I smiled and waved at him. He waved back. I began to cry.

I didn't make it through the service that evening. Before it even started, I left the church, sobbing outside the entrance. Parishioners walked by. Not one stopped to console me. Not one. (So much for support from God. I was going to have to mourn without Him.) I went back into the church to grab the car keys from my husband and went out of the church to cry in the car.

For the next 24 hours, there was no telling when I would cry. I told my husband I couldn't go to my in-laws for Christmas dinner. I don't think he was too happy with me. I didn't want to be in the middle of a family celebration when my own family was broken. I certainly didn't want to make anyone else feel uncomfortable. Most of all, I didn't think my father should be alone on Christmas Day. (He had already declined the invitation from my in-laws. He's obviously smarter than I am.)

I made the mistake of checking Facebook. Too many happy families. Too many smiling faces. Too many mothers and daughters. I hated all of them. I still do.

I realized during this time that the one person I relied on more than anyone else during difficult times was gone. (She told me I would miss her when she was gone. Boy, do I hate when she is right.) I realized that my support system had thinned out considerably. In our society, you are given one week off to mourn. After that, you move on. No one wants to hear your stories. No one wants to hear you talk about your dead mother. It's pitiful. People avoid you, as if death is contagious. Your friends abandon you. They promised support, but when mourning is messy, they are nowhere to be found. No one wants you around at Christmas time.

Mourning is lonely. Mourning during Christmas time is unbearable.