The Season of Firsts

Maybe it’s the holidays. Everyone said it would be rougher, tougher now. Someone told me it was the season of “firsts”: the first time you missed your birthday; the first Halloween you weren’t dressed in a crazy costume; the first Thanksgiving without you at my table; the first time you didn’t nuke a plate piled high with leftovers; the first holiday season without you here; the first time you haven’t said, “It looks great, Ma!” when the tree is decorated; the first time you haven’t snagged a few Christmas cookies fresh from the oven; the first time I have not bought you a present or two or more. And now, I’m facing a new year without you. I don’t like that idea.

At first I thought I would never smile or laugh again. I did. I have. Yet, when I least expect it, I cry. Grief doesn’t feel good. I don’t wallow in it, but it shows up from time to time. You were my first child and losing you has been my greatest loss. This is the first time I’ve written at length so publically about how much I miss you. It may not be the last.

This is all I have to say today.