You could say November is the beginning of the Holiday Season. A time for families to gather together and share the blessings of another fruitful year. Rising early, before the sun comes up in the East. We start the turkey and the baking of the cornbread we need for the dressing. For whatever reason, this seemed to be my son’s favorite holiday. As much as he loved Christmas, the anticipation of sitting down at a table full of endless delights seemed to give him such pleasure. I would see him eat things that if cooked at any other time, were left untouched. As the Holidays grow nearer, the weight I feel in my heart grows heavier. I look around and feel guilty for not being thankful for the treasures that surround me. A daughter, possessing beauty, both inside and out. A loving and gentle husband that never finds fault in anything I do. Family, father, sisters, nieces and nephews. So why can’t I find peace in all this? Because what I lost is so precious, not even the sun, moon or the stars could replace him. The joy of watching his happiness is a memory. One that dominates all that I do, all that I am and all that I want. My feelings can grow bitter and losing my temper is easy. Unfortunately, the ones that feel it are those that I love most. This will be my third Holiday season without my son. Evidently I’m going to make it, the past years have proven that. So I will rise in the morning and begin the ritual that has become a chore and be pleasant to those around. Yes, I probably will have to make an escape several times throughout the day to catch the tears that are always ready to fall. But, I will be thankful for all that surrounds me, all that I love and all that love me. For one thing is certain, without them, I would not be here today. And this year, I will hold them dear and eat an extra portion of cornbread dressing, just for Josh.
The traditions of Christmas takes on many forms, all dependent on our heritage. Mine is Spanish/Cuban and I have to say a little bit of country sneaks in, thanks to my husband of 26 years. Being 100% Spanish, our celebration is on December 24th, Christmas Eve. As a child, I never paid much attention to the preparations or should I say rituals that were so important in making this evening special. The sour oranges, that have become even more scarce, for marinating the fresh pork. The bags of black beans that had to be sorted, God forbid a small stone would get past us and into the pot! The smell of the trinity (garlic, onions and green peppers) and hot Cuban bread would bring in hordes of people, because you see, in my mother’s house there was plenty of food for everyone! I lost my mother on December 17th, 1986, but before she died, she made my sisters and I promise that we would celebrate this favorite day of hers, that year and all of the years to come, no matter what. When we lost Josh, ten years later, my sisters did not want t put my husband, daughter and myself through any more pain than we had already experienced. They asked if it would be better to forego this tradition. Without hesitation I emphatically answered no, for not only did I need my family, I needed this constant in my life and I could not break this promise to my mother. That first Christmas Eve without Josh was very difficult. I kept waiting for him to ask for a cup of homemade eggnog or when would his Uncle Phil’s version of my Mother’s black beans be ready. But that night, new traditions were born. We were overwhelmed when Josh’s friends came to be with us, something that continues throughout the year. Also, my nephew, Sean, Josh’s alter ego in life, honors my son’s memory with a special remembrance toast. And the smells that I remember in my younger days, lends to the ever-constant healing of my heart. As this holiday season continues, each day brings memories that spur the tears. But the magic of Christmas Eve, weaves ever stronger. The bonds of love that will never be broken. And although my mother and Josh are not with us in person, their spirit and those of our loved ones, give us the strength to continue this traditional celebration of family and love.
I remember so vividly, New Year's Eve 1995. At the stroke of midnight I turned to my husband and said, "This is going to be a very good year." Little did I know, that six months later, my world as I knew it would come crushing down on us. I've never been one to look joyously on the last day of the year. To me it is a passing of time one can never again own, except in memories. Over time, my children have grown use to my tears as the clock gets closer to announcing the new year. We stand by the old traditions my mother taught us and me them. For wealth, hold a dollar bill in your hand. Synchronize the eating of 12 grapes for health, as the strokes grow ever-closer to midnight. We gather around the television to watch the lighted ball in Times Square usher out the old and welcome in the new. Last of all, let us not forget the significant kisses and hugs that fill the room.
I have never committed to New Year's resolutions and I can't really say if this is a good thing. As I sit and reflect about my life in 1998 and wonder about 1999, I come back to a conversation I had with my son. There was an old, homeless black man in Ybor City that everyone seemed to fear. Yes, with reason I suppose, since he spoke nonsense to our ears and wore feathers in his hair. My son told me he had taken this person with him on errands, shared lunch with him on numerous occasions and simply enjoyed his company. I warned him that this was not a very wise thing to do, explaining that this person could have a violent side and he was taking a risk by doing this. My son just laughed and said this man was nothing but lonely and he probably shouldn't have told me. I told him I was proud of him for seeing through to the heart and for caring for someone no one else saw as a person. I advised him to be careful and don't take any chances. All the while knowing that I could not convince him otherwise. As I remember this good deed I have come to realize the ultimate New Year's Resolution. Maybe, after all these years of foregoing making a pact with myself for the coming year I should make a pact with humankind.
"Blessed is the influence of one true, loving human soul on another" (Blaise Pascal).
Thank you Josh,
Love, Mom
Dearest Josh,
I thought of you today, but that is nothing new. It's something that I do, as you would say, "24 - 7." I long to wrap you in my arms for a simple heartfelt hub. I love you, all that you are, I am. Your triumphs, your tragedies and everything in between. I lost you, my son, and no matter how hard I try, you will be forever gone from my earthbound life. I know I'm stronger today, but that does not lessen the pain of losing you. I am reminded that time will heal a broken heart, but what emptiness in our spirits? Take what you need to guide you on your new journey. The remainder I must keep here on earth to give to your sister. You know how much I love you both. It is the best, yet most humbling experience in life.
Your sister is as independent as ever and your spirit lives on within her. You blessed her with so many memories of your love for her. Thank you.
I am in awe at the lives touched by your passion, intelligence and grace. We have never found ourselves without, for your friends have become our family. Thank you for choosing wisely.
Soon we will celebrate your birthday. You know the saying, "There is strength in numbers." What a truism. While your music plays and speaks to us, we'll be surrounded by the love of many telling "Josh" stories. Their love for you is not forgotten and your presence is truly felt. Oh how I wish that you could be with us on your special day and all the days that follow.
Happy Birthday, my son - I honor that place within you where the entire universe dwells, where peace and harmony and abundant and light; and clarity reveal the truth. May your celebration with the angels be more than even you could have imagined!
Namaste,'
Love, Mom
Changes last made on: Wed Oct 4, 2000