There are some days that can’t go by without doing something in your memory. Christmas is one of those days. People talk about lighting a candle and having it burning all day or throughout dinner at a spot reserved for you. Maybe a charitable donation in your memory. I’ve considered looking at pictures of previous Christmas’s and maybe doing something special with them.

But here it is dec 23 and I haven’t been able to do anything. No tree – can’t look at ornaments you made or picked out during vacations. No pictures. I just can’t see them yet. This Christmas hasn’t been as gut-wrenching as last year. I’m grateful for that. But I’m still not “right.” “Normal.” “Clear thinking.” Whatever you want to call it. And I didn’t realize the importance of doing something to honor you – of planning something – for Christmas Day until this last weekend. I’ll be thinking of you all day. And I plan to re-read the cards people sent with memories and thoughts of you from last year. And I’d like to do something more. Something visible.

Your Dad seems to have found his footing more comfortably than me in this arena. Does that make you laugh baby? I bet it does! Your Dad being tender hearted and emotional – deliberately planning something special in your memory. And me – the sappy Mom who overflowed with emotions and plans while you were with me couldn’t be more clumsy and ill-prepared now that you’re not here. We made our plans for my first Mother’s Day without you the day of Mother’s Day. That’s hardly planning! And how we’d celebrate your birthday was decided on the day of, too. And we decided on dinner plans after your birthday! For August 8th I got ahead of the game – there was a plan a few days in advance. I know you’d be cracking up right now! You always made fun of me for being uptight. You never used that word but it’s what you meant. Remember on our last vaca I was worked up about something stupid that wasn’t going just the way I wanted it to? We were at Islands of Adventure, remember? You were walking with me. We were behind Robbie and David. You looked at me and said, “Mom it’s okay. Just relax.” And you demonstrated this thought for me by taking a deep breath when you said it. You loved me. I always knew that but I knew it in a different way at that moment. To have my child pointing out one of my flaws in a non-accusing way but rather out of concern. Wow. I reflected on that a lot afterwards. I felt blessed. Blessed by your love and blessed by your maturity.

So this Christmas Robbie – the organized one in the family (are you laughing again?!) – will decide what we can do to honor your memory.

I miss you. I love you.