Yesterday was 2 years without him… I couldn’t even address it yesterday. It was sharp and unbearable to even think about. Sometimes there aren’t words… sometimes you just have to cry alone in a parking lot and listen to the rain on the roof of your truck. Sometimes you just have to pull yourself together and remind yourself that cowgirls don’t cry…. But we do. A lot. 💔
I know I keep going back to this topic but this time of year it hits me right in the gut. I’ve spent hours tracking down vintage decor from years gone by and every piece takes my breath away when I find it because the memories flood my whole world.
Gazing at the Christmas lights in our window and I picture that holly tree outside my childhood living room window and the single strand of Christmas lights my dad put up.
Every Christmas cookie transports me back to that little farmhouse kitchen. I’m right there warm from the roaring fire in the wood stove decorating gingerbread men with my mom. Coconut hair and smartie buttons every year. Those sugar cookies with the Nutty club green and red fancy sugar glisten in my mind. Mincemeat tarts and platters of cheese, garlic sausage with ritz crackers look so fancy in my memory.
Watching Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer in my pj’s on the living room floor. I think I can still feel that worn brown carpet if I close my eyes and try hard enough. That tiny living room felt huge when I was small. The worn tinsel garland hung ceiling corner to corner. Stockings thumb-tacked to that wood panel wall. Santa knew to use the front door because our chimney was certain death as we didn’t have a fireplace. I know Santa knew because big brother Earl assured me every year.
The coffee table always looked festive with a bowl of Christmas candy, a fancy starched dollie and our hobnail flocked poinsettia candle holder. It wasn’t much but oh how I looked forward to helping put those decorations out! The fresh cut tree in the corner was always too big for that room! Back then I didn’t know our home wasn’t fancy. I didn’t know it was too small. It was home and it was welcoming. It was lived in and Christmas made it feel even cozier.
It’s so magical I keep going back there in my dreams because nostalgia thankfully paints over the ugly parts when it comes to take you on a trip down that candy cane lane.
What I wouldn’t give to have one more Christmas in that old farmhouse. One more batch of cookies with Mom. One more trip to cut down a tree with Dad and one more reassuring conversation with my big brother that Santa won’t slide into the wood stove!
I’ll be home for Christmas if only in my dreams.
Three years ago today I held her hand as she left this world. I listened as she took her last breath. There hasn’t been a day since then that I haven’t thought about her. Her favourite things have become my favourite things because they remind me of her. I find myself buying things in the grocery store she bought. I find myself ordering the food she loved in restaurants. I buy myself the flowers and I eat the cake because of her. I try my hardest to bring Jacob happiness and give him little treats the way she did for me. I carry everything about her real deep in my chest.
And time make you bolder. My only important job in life right now is to protect that little boy and I won’t apologize for that. I’m not here to make friends.
I cannot wrap my head around how far we have let society go in the wrong direction. I cannot understand why we protect the guilty. I cannot understand why we continue to perpetuate a system that breaks the innocent.
My only goal is to make sure my child knows the world is beautiful but the system is broken. Hopefully the faster he learns this lesson the more apt he’ll be to roll with the punches. Maybe if I can teach him to feel deeply but not deep enough to let the pain consume him then everything will be ok.
I hope when he grows up and looks back on these days he realizes my anger towards those perpetrating the horrible, horrendous, unjust system was my way of standing up for him.
I’m just one person and I can’t change all this brokenness alone but I want that child to know I’d run head first into a burning building for him. I want him to know I’ll protect him at a detriment to myself.
I want to stand on the rooftops and scream until everyone sees what this system is doing to our kids!! That we are failing them as soon as we let them out of the gate!!! That so many of those who are supposed to protect them don’t because their perceived power has clouded their ability to see truth, to see right, to fight wrong. I’ve lost all respect for so much and so many.
When you can sit behind a desk, on the other end of a phone call or behind a screen, and try to downplay a situation where children are being assaulted in a place where they are supposed to be safe and make any justification for the situation, or downplay the situation in anyway you’ve lost sight of what’s right and honestly of humanity. You’re the problem but you get a pay-check so I guess that’s good enough for who you are at your core.
The world is beautiful, life is beautiful, the system is fucking broken and disgusting. Try to remember this when you’re feeling the dark.
Life With The McGavins 