The holidays are here and it's time to get sad. Just kidding. Kind of.
When I read back at posts from last year about Max, I almost want to add a disclaimer before each posts. This isn’t where I am anymore. Yes, there’s still sadness, but those crying spells are gone. I'm not fighting the sadness, the anger, the confusion. I'm accepting it. The more I accept it, the happier I become.
Yes, I'm happy, I'm grateful. I'm excited for life and I'm tired of apologizing for it. Or even worse, explaining why.
I’ve prayed to be angrier with Max’s death. It sounds crazy, but I did. I wanted to find that anger deep down that would bring justice to my son’s death. It never came like I wanted. I would occasionally find anger in other people's behavior but ultimately, I can't be angry with them, either. I give them grace and pray I find wisdom to use my words wisely. I wanted to be passionate and angry about Max like other mom’s were about their children and their unfair death. I couldn’t find it in anger but I found it in joy. I found that passion in gratitude. I was so confused and struggled with guilt.
Does being grateful and finding happiness mean I didn’t want my son enough? Should I be angrier? Sadder? Does the joy I found in his death make me a terrible mom? The best thing about grieving is the grief is mine. 100% mine. I’m not “dealing” with it. I’m living it. I'm okay with it. I'm not angry, I'm not bitter. Finding happiness in Max's death without guilt is another grief in itself.
Having a broken heart was the best and worst gift I’ve ever received. This is what Max's legacy has left me and it feels like the holidays aren't going to be that bad.