One year ago today, I was in the midst of prepping for a truly epic New Year's Eve dinner for Doug and me. I loved cooking elaborate meals for him, because he so enjoyed eating them. We planned not to go out, because at that point we hadn't told very many people about his upcoming surgery, and I was afraid that I'd burst into tears if anyone so much as asked me how I was, because I was worried about it. I had NO idea what was coming; if I had, I would've told him to cancel the damn surgery until after his birthday like he wanted.
We had a beautiful evening together; our first and last New Year's Eve as a married couple. I'm glad we chose to spend it with only each other. But it's a heart wrenching pain knowing that I'll never be able to do that with him again.
As difficult as Christmas 2020 was, New Year's Eve promises to be far, far worse. Hell, it's not even noon and it's already far worse. And no, it's not worse solely because I don't have my love (or indeed, anyone) to kiss at midnight. It's far more complicated than that.
This year has been an absolute cluster for all of us, whether you lost someone or not. Selfishly, I find that the focus on deaths due to Covid has rather pushed the grieving (for people who died from something other than Covid) to the side. Covid deaths have subsumed all other deaths in the collective consciousness; Covid grief has overtaken our own individual, personal grief. I understand that, but it does feel as though I was robbed of a lot more than Doug; I was also robbed of the grief experience and support that would have been the norm in any other year. I have no basis for comparison, so I can't say that it would have been easier on me if Doug had died in a year other than 2020; all I can say is that this year has been hell. And I feel pretty comfortable saying that all of us who lost someone this year feel that way to one degree or another, no matter the cause of death.
But that's not why tonight and tomorrow will be worse than Christmas.
Most people are excited to put this shit show of a year to bed once and for all; fresh, clean slate and all that. And they're talking about what they learned, or how they became a better, stronger person due to the hardships of 2020. But for me - and for the millions of people in my shoes - there IS no putting the shit show of a year to bed. Sure, we too get that clean slate, but it doesn't feel like a clean slate. Instead, it feels like the rest of the world is moving ahead and I'm not ready to do that. 2021 is a year in which my husband won't be here. I can't manufacture a list of things that create some kind of silver lining for this year, because there isn't one: this year is the year my life was destroyed. As of midnight tonight, Doug will have died last year.
I cannot explain the existential horror of that sentence, because I can't even parse it into words to explain it to myself. But it feels like the worst and most final bookend ever, or the slamming of a door that will never open again: I'm not a married woman anymore. Doug isn't here, hasn't been here in 315 days, won't ever be here again.
The thought of going into a new year without him is so heavy that I start crying and hyperventilating every time I think of it. I don't want a new year; not without Doug. I finally deployed that workflow I've been struggling with for months, and then I cried approximately two buckets of tears, because Doug would be so proud of me. It's hard to take pleasure or any pride in accomplishing anything without having my biggest cheerleader here to be proud of me. And please don't tell me to be my own biggest cheerleader: for one thing, that is not in my nature; for another, it's not the same as having that one person who always has my back. I got used to having that. I miss it more than I can express.
So, if you're excited about getting out of this godawful year and moving on to a fresh start, I'm happy for you; I really, truly am. But please - if you don't mind, spare a thought or two for those of us who can't find a way to enjoy this. Please remember that some of us don't have anything to look forward to. Some of us aren't ready to leave 2020 behind. Because, however horrible 2020 has been, it's a year in which our now-deceased loved ones lived; and we aren't quite ready to let it go just yet.
Please stay safe tonight, so that you don't put any of your loved ones in the position to feel the way that I and millions of other people feel right now.
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