I don’t think that ache that isn’t physical, but hurts deep in your chest that comes from missing someone isn’t talked about enough, especially during the holidays. As I get older and my memories fade, I’m forced to remember, and remembering stings more than forgetting. The holidays are rough, and it doesn’t take long after I watch a Christmas movie sitting next to the spot on the couch that could’ve been theirs, or looking through an old photograph until that grief wraps its feeling around me like the red ribbon on my Christmas present. I’m almost a grown woman, and I’ll sit like a child, counting back the years or how many times I saw them in my dream the past month. Like I said earlier, the side effects of grief aren’t talked about enough. It’s acceptable for someone to hurt and ache after they lose someone, but when time passes, it can feel like you’re dragging a weight forever that no longer burns, but wears out your arm from carrying it for so long. I was eleven, and now I’m almost seventeen. Sometimes when I’m out with my family for thanksgiving or for my mom or dad’s birthday, I wonder how much they’d enjoy that apple pie or slice of cake too, if they’d laugh at my jokes or if they’d ever see me succeed. Of course, they won’t, they never will, and younger me didn’t fully grasp that until now. They won’t see me graduate on that stage, they won’t see me when I’m off to college, and they certainly didn’t see me on Christmas Eve. Making friends growing up with grief is hard, and I had a deep fear for a long time that I’d lose my friends the way I lost that person too. Looking at photos where my friends are with big families having fun together, leaves me feeling angry, not out of jealousy, but knowing that I’ll never experience that type of love with that person again. It’s one light lit on the Christmas tree without them, one less phone call I chose to make, I haven’t heard their voice in five years, and all that’s left is a bunch of cards stacked in my closet. I do silly things to remember them, but most of it isn’t by choice. I thought about them while writing this, the sadness I hold inside that they never saw me get to grow up. A few weeks ago was Easter, and that’s when I probably felt the most grief I had in awhile. My last family outing with them was officially ten years ago, and I don’t think I’d get another one anytime soon. I tried to repicture the food, the laughter, the noise, just all of it until it hurt. My new dog is helping a lot, but my old ones are growing up too. Just like everything changes with time, my approach to the situation did too. Even though I no longer let it consume me, there are nights where I replay that morning that happened five years ago. I started writing to help cope with the grief, but I’d trade my talent for that person to be back in my life anyday. Because the holidays can get lonely, not because there aren’t many people around, but because they aren’t there too. But if heaven is real or if there is some way for souls to intertwine, that would be the only time I’d see them, and if I do, I hope I’d still recognize them. I hope they still remember my voice and the stuff I like, because even though my memory is fading and my life is changing, I still remember how much their face meant to me. And meaning is worth more than memory, and if I carry that meaning, that feeling with me, maybe then I’ll never be alone, and maybe soon an angel will walk with me when we light the tree.
