New Years' Hope

I’ve never been a huge fan of the New Year’s Eve celebrations. Oh sure, in my younger days another excuse to party, act stupid and kiss someone who you might never get a chance to some other time was fun, but in my early twenties I moved from the east coast to the west coast, and the whole idea of waiting for midnight when I knew everyone I knew back east was already passed out and asleep took a lot of wind from the sails. In fact once the kids came a long, it became sort of a New Year’s Eve tradition to celebrate with our kids and other families with kids at 9pm, and be home in bed watching the New Year arrive from under the warm sheets.

But then in October of 2009 my 10-year-old son David died. Getting through those three months and the holiday season seemed impossible. But we kept plugging forward, and before we knew it the celebration of Halloween, the nightmare of a day of giving thanks (pretty useless that year), and the nightmare of Santa coming and opening presents with his little sister without him, was done, and we were staring a new year in the face. We opted that year to go back east and visit family in Florida. There was for the first time in many years a real anticipation on my part for the year to change its last digits. The year we were leaving behind was certainly the worst I had ever been through, and the idea of starting new was so very appealing. We were staying at the beach house my brother owned, and we spent a lot of time the days leading up, walking the beach, looking at the stars at night, and feeling very miniscule in comparison to this huge cosmos we are a part of. We spent a great deal of time talking with relatives about David and memories. It was a good time for sharing grieving and feeling safe to shed the tears we knew were necessary.

When New Year’s Eve arrived, we went out to the beach at sunset to watch the last sun of the year disappear into the Gulf of Mexico. My daughter, who was only 8 at the time, played in the sand. We took pictures as the sun set, celebrating our lives, our dear David’s love, and the hope that life ahead, though it would always be different, still held wonders for us all.

It was a very healing and important night for us all. But it’s important to note, that it changed nothing. The idea that the turning of the numbers in the Year would make a difference proved to be just another dream and hope that never really came to fruition. We still had another 9 months of “firsts” ahead of us, which David was not going to be a part of. There was no magic healing that took place. Don’t get me wrong, the time spent with family and marking the passing of the year was exceedingly important, and it did us a great deal of good, but stopping the hurt it did not do. Of course now I realize that nothing stops the hurt. It is with you forever. It always has the potential to rear it’s ugly head when a certain song comes on the radio, or you see the number “18” (the number he wore when he died at Football) on some random sports team, or even when you are writing a piece to share about New Years for The Greif Toolbox. The tears have come, they do come, and they will continue to come at times. But it was a way of marking the time. Not the time of despair since David’s death, but rather the time of our survival and life forward.

Every New Year now marks another step forward into a life that we have grown, and loved and just plain lived. We are moving forward, carrying David’s love forward, not only in our own hearts, but also outwardly to the world. This year in particular was a big step for me in that I finally was able to put some form to the pain and heartache, and take my life’s work and create a vehicle to use it to help others who have suffered similar pain as we have. In creating Healing Improv I have been able to reach out and help others see that life does move forward, and laughter and good times can still be lived, all while holding onto the love we have. I say love we “have” because as my wife loves to remind me, love never dies. I love David as much, if not more, today as I ever did. And though I no longer feel his kiss, or hear his laughter, he affects whom I am and what I do as much as he ever did. So 2014 will be another year forward, with David making me who I am and improving on whom I was, and using his love to heal and help others. I wish a Happy New Year to all who are wounded. 2014 is another chance to move forward. It’s another year to keep living. Our loved ones who are gone do not want us to stop indulging in life’s treasures. Move forward and live, if not for yourself, for them, for they are still with you, every step of the way.