The Saturday after Thanksgiving, we decided to decorate our Christmas tree. It was the earliest we had ever done that. But we had the twins this year, and I wanted to leap into the holiday season with gusto. For now on, it was my intent to build up the anticipation of Christmas morning – to give my children as many days as possible to marvel at the season.
Although they are only six months old, it’s never too early to start traditions!
As I put the angel on top of the Christmas tree, I had an overwhelming feeling of gratefulness. My life was full – my twins, a loving husband of 18 years and a wonderful family. But, in spite of these blessings, I also had a sense of loss.
In November 2012, we were cautiously celebrating our surrogate’s pregnancy – twins! After 18 years of marriage, several failed IVF attempts, and many, many hopeless times, we could finally say we were officially expecting. We told family, but gave strict instructions to keep it quiet. Our anticipated reveal- date was mid-December. Merry Christmas to us!
Finally, the date arrived. Permission to convey this was granted, and the joyous news was spread across many social networking sites. My mother-in-law (Mom) was one of the first to learn the good news. She had walked our infertility journey with us always hopeful, always waiting to learn of good news; never failing to commiserate with us when we were repeatedly disappointed. She was our biggest cheerleader and our most trusty comforter.
On December 18th – Reveal Day, Mom wrote on her page, “I am so very excited to share this news with my family and friends. My son, Rob, and daughter-in-law, DeAnna, have announced the anticipated arrival of twins due in June. We are over the moon. They have waited so long! Some Christmas present!!” She received 19 “likes” and 11 “comments.”
One week later – on December 24th – she was dead.
It was both my husband’s birthday and, of course, Christmas.
The pain of her untimely, unfathomable and downright unfair death was crushing.
So, here we are, 12 months later, having spent the past year living a life without her and learning to live life without her. We celebrated the births of the twins and enjoyed the usual baby milestones. I admit, however guiltily, that we spent the time just being genuinely happy.
But now, it is Christmas time again.
I assure myself that it is perfectly acceptable to relive the utter anguish of her death on the anniversary of it. It would be, oddly so, almost comfortable. More than something that is just acceptable actually, wearing my sorrow would be like slipping into a favorite sweater – a familiar, worn, soothing feeling.
But deep down, I know I can’t allow that. I cannot be comfortable in such sorrow. I can grieve, yes. I can mourn, yes. But carry anguish, NO. On this anniversary, as with all the days of the year, I must learn to celebrate the life that was – her wonderful life. And, so to her, and to her grandchildren, I commit to doing just that.
This commitment includes allowing my kids to experience Mom’s cooking even though they will never watch her roll the dough of her favorite cookies and pies; to listen to her stories of Ireland and her relatives who called it their home, even though they will never hear her voice; and to know the love of their Irish Nana, even though they will never get a chance to feel her arms adoringly surrounding them.
It seems I have a job to do.
So, I went searching through my emails and came across some of her favorite recipes – ones like Pumpkin Sponge Pie and Unbeatable Pineapple Cake. No matter how fond she was of lamb, I chose to skip this one recipe – insert here all the usual clichés of eating Mary’s friend. However so, it always left me a bit unsettled, I know Mom would understand.
Next, I downloaded her “ginormous” family tree she worked so diligently on. I studied it. I unearthed the antique photo albums – the ones that held photographs of long ago deceased relatives. I dived deep into it all learning what I could, piecing together the stories she would have told.
This year, our Christmas dinner will be followed up with slices of warm Pumpkin Sponge Pie. I even feel ready to begin sharing a few tidbits about her ancestors as we sit around the Christmas tree – the tree that my young son and daughter admire not so much for the twinkling lights and heirloom ornaments but rather with the desire to taste its branches. My arms, and their father’s arms, will hold them close and tight while we whisper how much their Nana loved them before they were even born. They will know her and they will be happy. And, together, as a family, we will be grateful.
DeAnna Scott, 46, is the mother of twins. Robert and Phoebe, born via a traditional surrogacy in June 2013, wife of 18 years to husband, Rob. DeAnna works p/t in the corporate world, p/t in photography and full time as a mom. Prior to motherhood, she was active in little dog rescue, and lives in Ventura California with her seven chihuahua mixes, with three cats and four doves thrown in for good measure.