As the wrapping paper was being ripped to shreds I realized, that for the most part, my boys have moved on. No more are they consumed by their brother's death. In the moment, they aren't concerned with what toys he may have liked at this age, or whether or not he would have remained awake in the wonderment of Santa.
But as Riley plays with his remote controlled 3 foot dinosaur, I wonder how Grey would have reacted to it. Would he have been scared or would he have faced it head on with his toy sword? I find myself turning towards the personalities of my nephews, or a friend's son, now my only comparisons for toddler reactions. Hmmmmm? But they are not Grey. And his personality patiently awaits for me until I see him again, someday.
Constantly pulled, between the loved ones of this world, and my longing to see my baby. I went for a walk late last night and pondered the thoughts of his Christmas in Heaven. I asked him, out loud, how his Christmas was so far. With perfect timing our neighbor shot off a beautiful firework. As a grieving mom, I took it as a sign from Grey. And as I realize that I could never give him that kind of Christmas here on earth, I find myself questioning if his Christmas was good enough. The toys. What about the toys? Surely God doesn't make Christmas in Heaven all about Jesus. That would be just selfish! My baby had better have gotten toys, and lots of them! I could have made sure he had gotten them. I would have delighted in his wild eyes as he marveled at our tree.
But then again, had I not experienced Grey's loss, I may have taken those eyes for granted. Perspective, I tell myself. Keep everything in perspective and the grip on my heart will loosen.
Last year, I muddled through. But this year, I must press forward. I must move through those things that keep me floating in his memory.
I think it starts with taking apart his room. It needs to, once again, become Riley's room not Grey's. One of my Christmas presents was a gift certificate to Sherman Williams for paint. I need to paint the walls. They can't stay bright yellow with giraffe spots. Like the book, Lovely Bones, when they find their dead daughter's bracelet years later. The mother looks at it, and instead of rejoicing in the finding, she realizes that her daughter's bracelet is that of the little girl she once knew, not who her daughter would be now. I get that. Grey probably wouldn't even want that baby room anymore. And for Christmas, I probably would have given him a different room, one with the new things he liked, whatever those might have been.
But keeping his room has kept Grey my baby. It's the only Grey I have ever known. It's the place I go when I need to smell him, feel him close. But I've realized, Grey's memory does not reside in his room.
Grey's memory resides in my heart. Only there can he grow.
Dearest Grey,
Merry Christmas Little Man. I miss you more than I can put into words. I love you even more than that. I pray that your Christmas was everything that you wanted it to be, that you didn't feel like you had to miss out, to be here with me making sure I was OK. I'm OK baby. Go and play. Go and play.
Love,
Forever Your Mom
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