Christmas Day

Last year Christmas Day was the last time we went out for anything fun.  We went with friends to see Les Miserable in the movie theatre, and then out for Chinese food.

I have always loved Les Mis.  I had see the play 11 times in England, on Broadway and in Florida.  It was my favorite.  A few years ago Brian watched the 25 year anniversary concert video with me, and he, too, fell in love with the music of Les Miz.  When the show came on tour we were able to buy tickets.  His first time seeing the play was my 12th.

So last year on Christmas Day, I put on my 24601 shirt, and we eagerly went with friends to watch the movie on opening day.  I think Brian enjoyed the film even more than I.

 Afterwards, we all went out for Chinese food.  The service was unusually bad, the food unusually unpalatable.  When Brian's dinner arrived cold an inedible, he sent it back and opted not to order something else because his stomach felt unsettled.

That outing was our last.  The last time we did anything for fun.  The last time we left the house for anything other than trips to doctors or pharmacies.  The last day when it wasn't obvious that Brian was really sick.  December 25th, 2012, was the last day I lived without true worry or pain.  Just three days later on December 28th, I took Brian to urgent care.  We thought it was a gall bladder attack, and while I cried that my husband might need emergency surgery, Brian felt relief that a simple operation would fix everything.

How wrong we were!  We had no idea that the next two weeks would be marked by visits to the er and various doctors appointments.  We had no idea that we would spend New Years Eve Day in the hospital for his first of many periocentisis.  We had no idea that on Monday January 7th I would take him for a doctor appointment, from which we went straight to the hospital.  We didn't know that when we left the house that afternoon, he would never return.  We didn't know that the exploratory surgery scheduled for January 8th would be a death sentence, and the first of many failed surgeries and procedures.

Last year on Christmas Day, Brian and I could still look forward to getting old together.  We still could dream.  We were so blessed with ignorance.  365 days later and all that is left are memories of a love story and marriage that were so extraordinary in their purity and depth.  365 days later, and the pain of last year is so heavy, so suffocating.

Today, Christmas Day 2013, I am supposed to go with friends to a movie and for Chinese food.  Jewish Christmas.  I can't do it.  I can't go.  The pain of all the memories are too heavy to bear.  The next four months will be marked with so many horrific memories of one year ago.  I'm grateful that I didn't keep a journal - that I can't place all of the terrible memories with specific dates, but it doesn't matter.  A year later and my Brian, my one true love, is gone.  Ashes buried in a grave.  And while I shall always carry his love and light in my heart, it is far too soon for me to access them without having to peal away layers and layers of crippling pain.

My love for Brian is alive and true, but my heart is on life support, and right now - this Christmas - it's prognosis is bleak.  I miss my Brian.  I miss our life..