Easter Weekend

It’s another special holiday weekend : one that holds memories of easter pastel colored baskets and my children’s father and i staying up late to hide chocolate eggs around the house. Each of our four children would have a special spot in the livingroom where there would be chocolate easter bunnies and treats, a toy, and usually a spring outfit brought by the Easter Bunny. There was usually a Laura Secord egg waiting for me that i would always eat throughout the day to the point of feeling sick. But the day was amazing for all of us. This tradition went on well into my childrens teen years. The chocolate egg hunt was always my daughter’s favorite thing.

We would have a ham or maybe a turkey. Even though they had gorged themselves on chocolate, the dinner was the highlight of the day. The house was filled with the aroma of the cooking and chocolate. Having a four day weekend was my favorite part : being able to spend that time with my children was better than all the chocolate any bunny could ever bring.

Randy and I have chosen to ignore the holiday this year. It’s just the two of us here anyway, but trying to celebrate it would be more than I would be able to cope with. God knows, most normal days i struggle to cope at all, but a holiday of memories of my four children laughing and racing around the livingroom trying to find the most eggs is just too much to think about right now. If we hadn’t lost Sammy, it would be a different story. But we did. And now memories just haunt me.

We are just days away from the eight month anniversary of his death and it is not getting easier. I try to show my best face forward around everyone but when I’m alone, I cry. Or I just sit around looking at walls thinking about how much I want to go back in time and bring Sam home with me.

I still go to bed every night and pray to the Universe to give me a glance of my boy… just a moment in time to see his smile and maybe hear his voice. But I don’t remember my dreams so if I do see Sam, I sure don’t remember it. I don’t think I dream of him.

While I remember the laughing of children as they filled their baskets, I try to fight off the sadness that such memories bring for me now.

I don’t think there is a new normal waiting around the bend for me. I don’t know how much more of this I can cope with. How many more birthdays, and special days to come will I struggle to try to enjoy: knowing that I can’t? How could this happen to my family? Every family who loses a younger member asks the same question. If there is something for me to learn from this other than heart ache, I’d love to know what it is.