By Necol Dickson
Dear Family,
I know that me deciding not to be involved in Christmas this year may come across as seeming rude, inconsiderate and hurtful. I’m writing this letter for you to read at Christmas, so I can give you a bit of an idea of why I chose to make this decision.
It might seem like I made this decision carelessly. Like I decided to swear off the holidays without a thought about how it might affect you. Trust me, I put a lot of thought and effort into whether I should be there this Christmas or not, and, have decided it best not to join in this year. I’m sure it might feel like a personal insult, like I bailed on you and our family when we’re all supposed to be together to celebrate it, however, this was never about you, or any of my family. Mac and I aren’t joining in on any family gatherings for the holidays this year. We are skipping all the usual family traditions, baking cookies, apple picking for Thanksgiving, as well as the family Christmas. I know this seems cruel and unfair, however, I need you to take some time to try and understand things from my perspective.
Let’s face the hard and true reality of the situation, my child is dead. And although that might not crush you, it crushes me…a lot…every day. Last year I was so furious that I barely spoke a word all Christmas and it wasn’t your fault. I just felt it so terribly unfair that you got to spend the holidays with your child and I couldn’t, and never would get to spend those holidays with the son Mac and I lost.
This may not feel as significant to you, as you have never lost a child, especially in as complex a way as miscarriage, however, it’s crushing. To the outside world, it’s seen as a disappointment, like not getting the dream car you wanted. But we, the parents, can’t escape the reality of what it is, the loss of a human life.
Mac and I are not grieving a thing, an object, a commodity; we are grieving our child, that we never got to hold or watch grow up or teach to talk or read to sleep at night. We lost all those memories we could have had. And the enormity of that loss is tremendous.
We named him Lukis; we never told anyone that until now, but that was his name. We wanted to be able to tell him he had a “kis” in his name so we always had a reason to give him a “kiss” every day. We thought that would have been a sweet reason for his name.
It’s hard grieving someone when we have nowhere to be with them, no grave to cry at, no jewelry or clothes or anything to really remember them by. Over time, people seem to forget about them. But we, as his parents, never do.
Grieving parents can start feeling like we’re going crazy, crying randomly with people asking what’s wrong as if we haven’t lost a huge chunk of our world. It feels like being at a funeral in a procession line and having someone come up to you and ask what’s wrong and why you’re crying. It’s so hurtful, you just want to gesture around and ask “why do you think I’m crying?” as from my perspective, it should be obvious to everyone how much I’ve lost…but it’s not…
People try to “give hope” by saying I can have another child. I know I might; hope is not my struggle. A new child will not replace my lost son. I’m still sad and terribly lonely without him. And so, to have to explain that, time and time again, to people around Christmas… even the thought of it sounds exhausting to me.
When we lose someone, everything seems tainted by their absence. I keep thinking that out of all the presents under the tree this year, not one will be for my son. He’ll never hear us sing Christmas songs, or watch the snowfall on a Christmas morning. You’ll never hold him in your arms, and I’ll never see our family coo over him.
As much as I’d like other things to be in my mind, that’s all that will be there this year. And it isn’t fair to make other people sit around and talk about my loss with me; it’s not their job, and it will ruin the holidays for them, which I also don’t want. However, I simply can’t act like this Christmas is like all the others, I can’t pretend I’m not crushed and breaking inside every second that Christmas will bring. I can’t pretend and act like I haven’t lost a big part of myself, and a person I love, simply to make others feel more comfortable. It isn’t fair to me and pushing my feelings on others isn’t fair to them.
So I hope you can understand why I’ve chosen to spend time with just Mac this holiday season. I know you’ll worry, but please don’t. Mac and I are spending the holidays figuring out what our traditions will be without our son. We want to start traditions as a family ourselves. I want to have the freedom to grieve during my holidays with Mac who understands and can relate to this loss, and I simply can’t do that around any of my family members right now.
I love you very much and I will be there in spirit. I always think of you during the holidays; even if we don’t spend any time together, you are still on my mind. And this isn’t a forever thing, just because I can’t be there this Christmas doesn’t mean I’ll be avoiding them from here on out. This Christmas however, I need to spend with my husband and child. I hope you can understand.
I love you always.
Nikki
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Necol has been married to her husband, Mac, since May 2018. Necol was born with a heart condition that would increase her chance of pregnancy issues but they still very much wanted a baby. They got pregnant 3 months after their wedding but sadly lost their baby, Lukis, to miscarriage on October 9th 2018. She and her husband are connecting with other resources for Still Parents to help emotionally support them through this hard time.
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