Boogers on the Wall

I was jamming out to Pandora yesterday while cleaning my house, getting it ready for Christmas Break when a song came on that reminds me of Luca.

It’s about a break-up, but the first verse always strikes me to the core. There are different types of broken hearts, but they all have something in common – they are broken.

The song, “Broken Heart” by John Meyer, goes like this:

“When you’re dreaming with a broken heart, the waking up is the hardest part. You roll out of bed and down on your knees and for a moment you can hardly breathe.

Wondering was she really here? Is she standing in my room?

No she’s not. ‘Cause she’s gone, gone, gone, gone, gone.”

When I hear it I flash back to the first few months my baby was gone. The sting, the sorrow, the anguish.

These days life keeps me busy. I run around chasing my four other children and try to keep up on my housework and photo editing, etc. I am happy.

But deep down, my heart still hurts sometimes.

And the holidays seem to make it hurt a little more than normal.

This time of year there is such an emphasis on family. It’s a time to spend together. A time for making memories.

It’s a hard time for someone who doesn’t get to make any with someone they love.

As I sat and listened to that song yesterday I couldn’t help but think of all the things I haven’t been able to do with my son who would be seven this Christmas season.

I’ve never helped him build a gingerbread house. He’s never made an ornament in school to hang on my tree. We’ve never rolled together a snowman or sledded down a snowy slope.

I hate that he’s never made it to our family’s Christmas-weekend getaway and I’ve never seen him sit on Santa’s knee.

There are so many things I wanted to and still want to do with him.

But I can’t.

For some reason he was taken from me far too soon.

So instead of bundling him up in snow pants and moon boots for a family snowball fight, I’ll take my other kids with a small stocking to the cemetery. I’ll light a couple battery-operated candles and place them at the top corners of his headstone.

I’ll push snow from his grave and stand in the cold thinking about our missing family member.

And then I’ll move on with my holiday. Because that’s the hard part. Life moves on without him.

Sure I’ll still think of him.

I’ll think of him Christmas morning when we’re all huddled together opening gifts.

I’ll think of him when we take our token Christmas-Day picture by our tree.

And I’ll think of him in the quiet that comes in the evening – at the end of all the festivities. When all my kids are tucked in bed.

All except one.

I’ll think of that sweet little baby boy. And my heart will hurt.

To a degree it will always hurt.