Most Wonderful Time of the Year?

I love Christmas music and I play it constantly from Thanksgiving, well into January. One of the songs I've always loved is "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year… "

For me, it always has been. The most wondeful time of the year, I mean. Only… it’s not this year. Not for us, anyway.

Sometimes it just hits me like a ton of bricks. He’s gone. Matt’s gone…

It’s almost Christmas Day 2009 and he’s not here with us. But he should be. He was here with us at this time last year... and we made all these wonderful memories. We're supposed to make more this year... but, he's not here with us.

I haven’t held him, hugged him, played with his hair, watched him wiggle, or heard his sweet little voice since July 4th… and I couldn’t want anything more than to do just one of those things. Just once more. Just. Once.

We celebrated Christmas with some of Dan's family over the weekend. It was nice. Good conversation, a great dinner, we exchanged gifts, watched the kids scream with delight about their new toys, and we also watched and laughed until our stomachs hurt while the adults played with their new remote control helicopter toys. The kids chased the helicopters and I’m pretty sure they hit more than one person in the head.

I was doing fine and coping with Matteo not being there with us until I looked through the pages of the photo calendar that we gave to Grandma & Grandpa Bailey. There he was – my baby. Our sweet little Matt. He was with us in those photos… taken less than a year ago. And look - he was smiling! He was happy. He was healthy. And then my eyes filled with tears and my thoughts started racing…

Matteo’s dead. He isn’t celebrating Christmas with us. Rocco got a new remote control car and he was having so much fun with it and making everyone laugh. But, Matteo… he didn’t get a remote control car. And, he would have LOVED it! He didn’t get anything. He wasn’t laughing and having fun with us. He wasn’t wrestling and climbing all over daddy and the cousins at the party. We won’t get to see Matt scream with delight this year when he opens his Christmas presents or plays with a toy he loves. We won’t get to see him and Rocco ram their remote control cars into each other or fight over toys like they did last year.

All of a sudden… there it was again. My heart… ripped out of my chest and sitting on the floor in front of me. I wondered if anyone could see it… my heart. And, the hole in my chest. It seemed so obvious to me.

I cried on the drive home from the Christmas party. I have never missed anything or anyone so much in my entire life. I can’t possibly explain this pain to ANYONE. It’s constant. It’s a physical pain. It makes you feel sick to your stomach. And, it is heavier than anything you can lift.

I slept hard that night… I was physically and emotionally exhausted.

The next morning, I woke and instantly began crying my eyes out. I sat in bed, hugging Matt's blanket... sobbing. By myself. I imagined him lying next to me. I wished for him to appear. I pretended I was holding him wrapped in his blanket. I could physically feel my fingers in his hair. I played over and over in my head the last day we had with him. I wondered what I did wrong. I wished how I would have done a million different things. I replayed the morning we discovered him dead. The look on his face. How I held him… my dead baby. And, I didn’t want to leave him. And, I didn’t want those strangers in my home to take him away from us. After about 30 minutes I got out of bed. I walked downstairs. Thankfully, the kids were still sleeping. Dan asked what was wrong, and I broke down and started sobbing again. And, he held me. And, I know it made him sad too. And, I know he couldn’t say anything… because we both know nothing… absolutely nothing can make this better. I wanted to call my mom. I wanted to call my closest friends. I wanted to call someone and just cry… and for them to just listen to me cry. But, I didn’t.

Everything that I tried not to think about too much this holiday season suddenly consumed my every thought. Like how Matteo’s stocking hangs from our fireplace… but he’s not here to see it. Rocco goes from stocking to stocking telling us who each stocking belongs to. And, Matteo should be here doing that too. How Dan & I should have been able to have fun shopping for fun toys for 2 little boys… but only one would be here to open gifts with us. Or how Gabby isn’t able to spend time teaching Matt how to put ornaments on the tree, or telling him about Frosty the Snowman and showing him how to draw Frosty. How making cookies should have been next to disastrous because of 3 kids throwing flour and sprinkles everywhere… not just 2. Two seems like such a lonely number still… it’s too easy. We miss Matt.

It probably took a good 48 hours before my eyes stopped stinging and the tears stopped falling.

Our hearts were ripped from our chests 24+ weeks ago… and we haven’t been able to put them back.

The people closest to us are so kind and thoughtful. They acknowledge the fact that our hearts have been ripped out. They ask how we are. They tell us they can’t imagine how different our lives are and that they think about us often. They acknowledge Matteo’s life and tell us they’ll never forget him. They continue to send us thoughtful cards, notes, emails, text messages, and leave messages for us. Just to let us know they care and that they’re there for us, whenever we need someone. Virtual strangers (my blogosphere friends) often do the same thing.

Some people fully avoid the subject. And, I wonder if they can see that my heart is still ripped out of my chest. I wonder why they don’t ask “So, how are you doing? It must be beyond difficult to live without your heart. I’m sorry. I think about Matt often and I can't imagine the loss you've experienced.” Maybe it is just more comfortable for them not to acknowledge our missing hearts and the fact that our sweet 18 month old baby boy died, unexpectedly. Maybe it is too difficult for them to look at or acknowledge the hole in our chests where our hearts once were. Maybe they feel they'd be stomping on our hearts, right before our eyes, just by asking about Matt or how we're coping.

I’ll find myself at the grocery store or park, wondering if the people looking at me know that my heart was ripped out of my chest. Or that it’s been gone since July and I’m not sure when or if it will ever be put back into my chest. Or perhaps they don’t see that my heart is missing. Sometimes strangers ask “How are you?” And, I look at them almost in awe of the fact that they don’t know my heart is missing… can’t they see the hole? Maybe not. Maybe only I can see it. Maybe I should tell them. Maybe I should be honest when people ask how I’m doing and say “Well, my heart was ripped out of my chest, but I’m still alive and I’m learning to live without it.” Sometimes I wonder how long one can live without their heart... because some moments and some days are truly just difficult.

But, I’m living. We're living. Life continues on for us. We have Gabby and Rocco to thank for this. They are the reason we do anything and everything. They are the center of our universe. They bring joy and happiness to our lives daily. And, soon… we’ll again witness the miracle of life when another baby joins our lives.

So, on the Eve of my favorite holiday... I can only hope that each of you will take the time to fully appreciate and cherish every moment with the special people in your life. Life is so short... but it is truly full of many beautiful moments which we all so often take for granted.

We love you, Matteo... you will be in our hearts, thoughts and prayers on this holiday as you are every moment of every day. Merry Christmas little buddy!