I know it is very common for people who have lost loved ones to struggle certain times of year.  Some have a harder time with birthdays.  Imagining what would be happening in their loved one’s life and missing having them around to celebrate their birthday together.  Others struggle with the day the person died, remembering the moment, the sadness, the end of the struggle.  Some people may struggle with both or other significant days, anniversaries and other special days.  Sometimes the days leading up to the day are harder then the day itself.

For me, this time of year always leaves me with an ache in my throat.  It’s right there near the surface and I struggle to keep it in, down inside and put away.  I think today, with the first signs of winter brought me to that hard time of year.  Snow whirling around outside this morning as my excited daughter jumped around trying to catch snowflakes on her tongue.  The cold, cold wind all around as I got in and out of the car to run errands alone. Three years ago we were struggling day to day.  My mom was going downhill and in a few days she no longer responded.  A Sunday morning she didn’t get out of bed.  She would continue to live but no longer communicating with us through writing, just the shaking of her head, a smile, or a hand squeeze.

The first year after my mother died I realized in the fall I was on a strange countdown but this time I knew the outcome.  I knew which day she died, I knew which day she stopped responding, I knew the day she rallied.  It was a strange reliving of her decline.  But every year it’s the same timeline and it is all mixed in with Thanksgiving and Christmas, two holidays that I love.  Quite the mix of emotions.  Being on this countdown doesn’t ruin Thanksgiving or Christmas for me, I have so much to be grateful for and love the joy of Christmas time with my nearest and dearest.  But the countdown is in the background. My mother died the day after Christmas.  Everyone left that morning.  She and I were alone while Maya napped.  I spent the entire day in her room with her playing holiday music on my iPad.  It was an amazing day outside, it snowed all day long.  I watched the snow from her big bedroom windows.  I held her hand.  I combed her hair.  I laid next to her in the blowup bed we had set up by her bed.  I gave her her medication.  I sang to her.  I read to her.  I cried over her as she took her last breath.  I begged her not to leave me.  Alas, she had places to go.

(Just had to stop writing this post to play a round of Plants vs Zombies with my kids so we could beat the treasure yeti.  This is one of the amazing parts of my life.  Writing a super sad post about my mom dying takes second place to what is important to my guys .)

So the countdown will continue again this holiday season.  I was glad this year it started for me in November instead of October as it did last year.  Maybe it will start later and later each year.  The strange thing is it doesn’t really bother me that I relive the countdown every year.  Somehow I feel it keeps me connected to her.  It is a strange mental pilgrimage to my mom’s death that I think I will continue to take every year.