I'm a softie for sad songs on the radio.
It's almost as if the artist is singing directly to me.
That's the beauty of music.
It touches us all...it conjures up the memories of our lives and it brings those sometimes tucked-away feelings into the forefront.
For the few minutes of that song, I'm taken back to the times I would do absolutely anything to recreate...if I could.
I heard a song by country artist Cole Swindell yesterday called, 'You Should Be Here.' It's one of the songs I'm talking about. I sat here, alone in my family room, and cried as I listened to words that brought lost loves to mind.
The holidays are a wonderful, magical time. I still enjoy shopping for our kids even though they're all adults now.
I still wrap their presents in four different kinds of paper, one for each, and count to make sure they all have the same amount to open. I know they will take turns, going from oldest to youngest, opening these presents on Christmas morning. We may not be awake at sunrise anymore, but the presents are opened like they were when the kids were growing up.
Spill over from the way my Grandma and my Mom orchestrated Christmas morning.
You should be here.
My husband and I both turned 50 this year and that whole mortality monster started to rear it's ugly head. While we have been truly blessed with our children and the relationships we share with them, we are also keenly aware of how suddenly it all can change. I'm not ready for anything to change. I want to keep my family in a cocoon, all the while knowing reality doesn't allow this.
I didn't picture losing my Grandma Daisy when I was 25. She was supposed to help me figure out how to be a wife and a first-time mom. She was not supposed to leave me.
You should be here.
Family's must restructure when we lose a member. No one wants to do this. But we must.
The first Christmas after my mom died in 2002 was awful. Can't sugar coat and say it was fine or that it even remotely resembled what I knew the holidays could be. Grandma was gone. Mom was gone. I was the sole female left to lead the holiday.
I didn't want the responsibility. Still don't.
You should be here.
I do my best. I carry on the traditions of the two females who made my childhood wonderful and magical this time of year. I hope our kids will find some of those same feelings and show their own children one day.
While not a day goes by that I don't miss the family I've lost, holidays are definitely the hardest. I'm sure it's that way for everyone who is readjusting...trying to find a normal without someone they love near. I doubt it will ever feel normal again.
You should be here.
Merry Christmas to the ones who shaped my life and left too soon. I hope and pray you are still with us and that you truly do see everything that's going on.
Even though that's a comfort, it still doesn't change the fact...
You should be here. Standing with your arm around me here.
It is what it is.
p
