My mother’s favorite charity is Saint Jude’s Children’s hospital. It became my favorite too. Last year, we gifted a child that had just beat stage four cancer to Disney World for her first trip. I feel strongly about raising awareness for childhood cancer research as it only receives 4% of the overall funding of the billions that are raised. We need to do better. The words below come from my friend Ani Maggio. They are in memory of her special boy. I am honored to share her words here.
It has been six years. Six Thanksgivings, and soon to be six Christmases. Every holiday passes like a tick mark on the calendar and a sigh of relief that we made it. We “survived” the holidays. They say the first year of “everything” is the hardest. Your first Christmas not here with us, your first birthday celebrated in heaven. The first year of surviving without you. They are right to a certain extent. Year six is not that much easier, different- yes, more tolerable, but not easy. I still wish to hide away from the world from October through January.
Family gatherings are always challenging, and that empty seat at the table can even bring me to my knees. Shopping for two (instead of 3) Christmas pajamas will inevitably have me sobbing in the middle of Target. What starts out as a routine trip to the store can quickly turn into a full-blown panic attack. That’s the thing about grief. It’s like an ocean. On the surface, things look calm and comfortable to swim. But in an instant, the currents change, and you feel like you are being taken under.
Grief can sneak up on you. One minute you are fine; the next, you’re crying in the middle of a store because you are reminded of the severity of what you have lost.
Most people don’t understand that I am not only grieving the loss of my child, I am also mourning the life he will never have. The first day of school he will never have, his graduation, his first car, his wedding day, the grandbabies that will never exist. I grieve all of it. I mourn him and the life milestones he never experienced. The holidays are a constant reminder of what could have been, of what should have been.
JJ died seven days before Thanksgiving. During a holiday when so many are feeling grateful, I am internally screaming and grieving my son. I am quick-tempered, distracted, full of anxiety and often having to host a party has me crawling out of my skin. I am also grateful, full of hope, and blessed. All these emotions can co-exist; they do co-exist. I am often simultaneously feeling a rainbow of emotions in the same breath.
If you know someone grieving this holiday season, please try and be patient. Be gentle. Have grace. It has been six years for us, and I can assure you I can be transported right back to the day he died instantly. Please take nothing we do personally. Ultimately, our grief isn’t about you. We need less advice and more presence.
Hold space for us and the one we grieve. Just be there to hold our hand while we weather yet another storm of grief and lost memories. Let us talk about our child or loved one, or not talk about them (that is ok too). Basically, let us lead and just be there for us. There is no wrong or right way to grieve. Only allow us to do it in our own way.
Grief is uncomfortable and messy, but our love for the one we lost is beautiful and pure. Because our love is so tremendous, our grief will be too. Will you just sit with us and let us be?
