Christmas #2

I spent the first 54 years of my life never once considering what it might be like to be the mom of an incarcerated felon during Christmas. I had no idea it could be so lonely. It is interesting how easy it is to be so self-absorbed in our own world that we don’t recognize the sufferings of others.

Last year we were able to video conference with Sam on Christmas. Now that he is actually in prison, that luxury is not available. I haven't talked to him in the past several days.

Being Sam’s mom has humbled me. When my kids were babies, I had this illusion that our life as a family would be spectacular. My vision didn’t include heroin, prison, an empty seat at the Christmas table, or a crushing sense of loss.

I am always grateful but gratitude is not my primary emotion right now.

Sometimes I feel like I am in the dead zone, as if the time between Sam’s conviction last spring and his release in the next 2-6 years doesn’t really exist or matter. My other children are growing and thriving, which I love, but there is a large part of my soul suspended in time. Without doubt, the holidays exacerbate the emptiness.

During the other 11 months, if I am not with one of my kids or working, I am hiking, running, or snowshoeing. Being alone with my dog, I don't have to rationalize or ponder or regret. I can just move, forget, and occasionally meet strangers.

Christmas is different. It feels like a forced acknowledgement that someone is missing. Where there once sat a young man who filled in our family conversations with the most creative utterances is an empty chair. We all feel it in our own painful way.

I remember Sam’s first Christmas seasons. He was always so excited to bake cookies, decorate the house, and open his presents. He loved our family traditions. He had an innocent and wonderful start to life. I never imagined him spending Christmas in prison. It didn't even cross my mind.

This year, “Christmas” with Sam was a couple of weeks ago. I was able to buy him a burger and chips out of a vending machine, talk to him for a while, and give him a hug. We had to drink Gatorade because all of the soda machines were broken. We would have preferred a Coke and a Dew. A beautiful and crappy little celebration between just the two of us.

Sam saw his older brother last weekend for the first time since being incarcerated almost a year and a half ago. His younger brother is going to see him tomorrow. I am so happy he is able to reconnect with them both. I know they all miss each other.

This Christmas deer was a gift from Sam a few years back. He and some of his sober friends all went shopping for their mom's together. He remembered my favorite color is red.

Merry Christmas Sam. I believe you need to pay the consequences of your actions but my heart is broken without you.

Someday in the next 2-6 years, I am hopeful that my entire family will be together again for the holidays.

Where there is life, there is hope. #nomoreshame

Merry Christmas,

Angie