Woe is Mii

We arrived home today from a triumphant Christmas tour. We spent yesterday with S's family, four generations under one roof. And my sister-in-law thanked me for not deserting them after S died! The girls had a good time with their cousins and were thrilled with their gifts. I ate and drank way too much, laughed a lot and cried a little. The three of us retreated to a hotel for some quiet time by ourselves, then drove back home in the morning. Under the circumstances, I can’t imagine that Christmas could have gone better.

I walked down the driveway to get the mail right after we got home. As soon as I opened the mailbox, I saw the letter I’ve been dreading for a month - a self-addressed envelope containing the autopsy report. I could feel my skin tingling as I walked back to the house with the letter. I decided to open it right away, so I hid in the bathroom.

The cause of death was never a mystery, but no amount of Quincy-watching in my youth prepared me to read the clinical account of my husband’s autopsy. I consulted the online medical dictionary more than once, and I still might ask our family doctor to go through it with me. Or not.

When I emerged from the bathroom, Critter wanted to play the new Wii game we got for Christmas. So I focused on that - unpacking the game, setting up the new Motion Plus devices, etc. I didn’t pause long enough to realize that we haven’t played anything but Guitar Hero on the Wii since S died. When we started up the new game and were prompted to pick our Miis, I wasn’t prepared for S’s avatar to be there. It’s amazingly accurate, except for the dreadlocks.

I felt the loss more sharply at that moment than I have in weeks. That was him up there, and now he's gone. I didn’t fall apart, but it did make me realize that moments like this will be coming at me for a long time. I’m not out of the woods yet.

Opting Out of Christmas

On Christmas, it will be exactly three months since S died. Right before Thanksgiving, I had a realization: I cannot participate in Christmas this year, at least not in the way I usually do. Not in the baking-shopping-crafting-FedExing-oh-my-god-will-they-like-this-birdfeeder way. So, without agonizing over it, I unilaterally opted out of all of that. I hope everyone will understand.

I did all of my shopping for the girls in a 15-minute spree on Amazon. I haven’t baked a single cookie, folded a single paper star ornament or fought for a single parking space at the mall. I haven’t festooned a damned thing.

I have spent time with friends, giggled with my daughters and taken long bubble baths. I have thought so much about the promise of the new year and so little about making sure the Ice Moose is always full of homemade cookies. And somehow, against all odds, I feel far better than I usually do five days before Christmas.

Rarely do I make decisions with such absolute certainty. I’m not a big risk taker and I tend to noodle over things until even the best ideas wilt under the scrutiny. Looking back to the times I’ve felt so certain, though, I realize that my instincts are pretty good – the best decisions I’ve ever made never involved lists of pros and cons.

I don't think my daughters will remember the year their dad died as "the one where Mom didn't put ribbons on any of our presents, and the tags didn't even match the paper!" My hope is that their memory will be more sweet than bitter, because we know he's no longer suffering, because we have each other and because we have the most amazing family and friends anyone could ask for.