All I Want for Christmas
Monday, December 04, 2006

They hit me like a sledge hammer to the skull.
These memories that creep and climb, pulling their way along my body, leaving trails of distaste in their wake.
They slither into my brain and curl around my cerebral cortex. I hear the tell-tale rattle bouncing against the walls of membrane and bone.

They strike when I am warm and safe in bed, my defenses pooled around my feet, like warm down blankets. They burrow beneath the layers and layers of brick I piled in front of my cell, the solitary confinement where all things hurtful go, the special place for things that go bump in the night.

I see her image broadcast on the TV screen in my mind. I can smell the sickly clean smell of the ICU room and hear the monitor as they bleep and blare out information on my mothers vital signs.

Please God don't let them tell me she's aware. I don't want her to remember this.

It is my mantra, my prayer. I worry the words in my hands like beads. Running them over and through my fingers till they are warmed by my body; an unconscious and ever-present extension of every waking thought.

My hands and face are "protected" and the false dryness of the gloves grate against my skin as I hold her cold, clammy, unresponsive hand. My heart beats a betraying mixture of sadness and resentment. It is a echoing voice, betraying me in these small quiet moments.

The Christmas lights glow from the nurses station behind me and reflect a thousand fold in her window. Through silent tears I watch them stream down into a watercolor of light. I pray for just a moment of recognition. I pray just as hard for none. Live or die. I don't know what I want. I've cried a river of tears and I just want to float away on them, far away to places that don't smell of death and pain. Places where people speak in loud booming voices and children laugh out loud, outrageously alive.


I don't want her to suffer but I can't let her go. I don't want to visit her like this for another twenty years, or five, or even one.

This non existence.

This non living.

This in-between place is killing me, killing her.

Endless waiting. Each day blends into another till I can no longer tell if it's night or day, week or weekend, December or January. I come to hate them all. The nurses, the doctors, the people who smile at me in the hallways. I hate you, each of you, with every fiber in my body, every DNA strand that makes up my being. I hate you in my toenails, the strands of my hair.

You that can smile and laugh. You that can tell your mother your sorry.
So sorry that you are less then what you should be. So sorry that you are not strong enough today.

What is strength if it desserts you when you need it most? What good is being strong when you are brought down to your knees in the most important and telling time of your life?

I hide behind my anger, take comfort in it's burning warmth. Find false strength in strong words and resentful glances.

I hate.

I hate everything...

and nothing...all at once.

Please end this.

I damn myself for thinking this thought. This one large looming betrayal of a word.

End...just end.

What do I mean?
End her life?
End her torment?
End this endless waiting.
Happen, something happen.
Just something.

I curse myself every moment that this feeling slides along my spine, swirling around my heart in an endless dance of guilt and sorrow.

When was the last time she looked at me? Really looked at me?
Does she remember how annoyed I was with her?
Does she know how sorry I am? How everything I am??

I'm sorry momma, so sorry.
For being less.
For being young and selfish.
For letting you think I was angry...I was just scared.

I hate this time of year,
I hate remembering.

Push, crowd, pat down, stomp, demolish.

Each and every moment of that time.

Obliterate, Annihilate, eliminate, eradicate, ...erase.

...all I want for Christmas.

Blogger Carrie had this to say:

That is so beautiful. I love when you write about your mother. You just seem to really open yourself up and let it out.

I'm sure your mother wouldn't want you to be sad especially at this time of year.

Keep your chin up! *hugs*

1:29 PM, December 04, 2006 

Anonymous InterstellarLass had this to say:

I remember the first Thanksgiving after my great-grandmother passed. Thanksgiving was HER holiday. The one that we spent with her every year. The one we looked forward to eagerly. After she died suddenly, just three weeks before, it was devastating. And I felt guilt because I didn't visit her the week before like I said I would. It made me sad to think that she was disappointed that she didn't get to see me and my kids. And then she had died. But I know that my loving her was what she remembered. {{{{HUGS}}}}

2:35 PM, December 04, 2006 

Blogger Keshi had this to say:

Karamia Im crying here..this heartfelt post brought back memories of my dad's sudden death. It seems both u and I were pretty young when our parents died. And times have changed and we have grown so much. It hurts my heart to know that Dad is not here to see who I am today. Likewise ur momma is not here today to hear what u have to say...well she's not here physically but Im sure she's ard watching over u, hearing every bit ur saying here. HUGGGGGGGGGGZ darling! She wants u to be happy...rem tis the season for momma would wanna see their kid crying during this time...atleast u have me Karamia. Always know that.

God bless u!

4:25 PM, December 04, 2006 

Anonymous Anonymous had this to say:

There's just no words; no good ones anyway. Something I heard many years ago: shared joy is twice the joy; shared sorrow is half the sorrow.

Hope your burden gets lighter in the sharing here.

6:22 PM, December 04, 2006 

Blogger Pam had this to say:

All wonderful things, your bloggy friends have said.

I feel your pain.
I've seen your pain.
I have close family that is living your pain right now.

Those words don't help much but what you are experiencing is...what...'normal'? I'm not sure that's a good word to use. How about, expected, part of grieving and healing. Words I'm sure you've heard before and probably told yourself a hundred times.

Beautifully written. I hope it brings some peace to your soul my sweet.


10:19 PM, December 04, 2006 

Anonymous Gypsy had this to say:

Thank you for being brave enough to share that. It was so powerful.

I'm so sorry this is a rough time. I'm thinking of you.

7:12 AM, December 05, 2006 

Blogger kristen had this to say:

kara - i'm so so sorry for your deep deep loss. your post is very powerful. i hope that slowly but surely, this time of year gets better for you. kendell will help with that, but i am sure it will take time and time again.

7:45 AM, December 05, 2006 

Blogger Hot Toddy had this to say:

Very profound; Thank you so much for posting it!

2:17 PM, December 05, 2006 

Blogger Cece had this to say:

I just can't imagine how hard that was for you to write. Very nice, thanks for sharing, honey.

4:32 PM, December 05, 2006 

Blogger Sassy Momma had this to say:

That was very moving. I'm sorry this time of the year is painful for you. My thoughts are with you.

6:44 PM, December 05, 2006 

Anonymous Anonymous had this to say:

Beautiful, as we have come to expect from you.

I don't want to cheapen it by saying anything else, other than thank you and we all love you.

3:11 AM, December 06, 2006 

Anonymous Anonymous had this to say:

I've seen so many people work through similar feelings here. I haven't had to, but just standing on the outside looking in is hard. I could not imagine being in that spot.

I'm glad you posted this and vocalized those feelings. It takes a lot to put feelings like that into words.

And secondly...wha? Where is my comment? I posted yesterday. Stupid blogger.

8:37 AM, December 06, 2006 

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  • Name:Kara
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