Our son died of a brain tumor. This year is our twelfth
Christmas without him. We live every day without him here. This is our life. As
a family, and as individuals, we are trying still to figure out how to live our
lives with such a crucial, vital, essential, important person constantly
missing. The presence of his absence colors everything. Always.
Theo died February 20, 2006. That year was horrid.
That first Christmas without him was a kind of black hole that is hard to
describe. I have
said many times that when my son died I realized how very little I knew. I
still do not know much. The mysteries I have been confronted with offer very
few clear answers. But I do know and can see that things have evolved. Things
get different and sometimes that means “better,” and sometimes it just means
different. It’s better that I can sing Christmas carols and actually enjoy doing
it. It’s better that I can shop for gifts and not have a breakdown in a store,
that I can go into a store at all is better. It is easier to put up the tree
than it was before. Still hard. But a little easier.
To think that it has been 12 years since our first
Christmas without him is kind of amazing to me. In many ways it really doesn’t
seem that long. Considering the increased amount of stress we have endured over
these 12 years, I would think it would seem longer. Shakespeare said, “Grief
makes one hour ten.” I know in the early years that feels absolutely true.
Right now though, twelve years seem to have passed by, not quite in a blink,
but pretty quickly. Strange. But still. Twelve years is a long time. Relatively
speaking. Always. Time is weird. I know that Christmas will continue to come
for however long I am still breathing here on this planet without my first-born
child. And that never gets better. But there are things that are easier. And I
know that the love and kindness in Theo’s Stocking has made each year a little
easier. Love and kindness really are the only things that make this grief any
easier.
I would like to tell you the story of that first year.
Thelonius Luther Helbert Fueglein died on February 20,
2006 at nine months old. Theo was diagnosed at 3 months old with a brain tumor,
a choroid plexus carcinoma. A very rare and deadly brain tumor.
The first Christmas after Theo died, 2006, I decided
initially that I was not going to have Christmas. I did not feel celebratory; I
did not want to have the holiday without my baby. But we had moved into a new
house, we were planning to stay home instead of traveling to family
celebrations—which I did not want to face. And so, I decided to decorate the
tree and the house as if he were here, to honor him and also to have something
to focus on. When I opened the box with Theo's stocking inside—a sweet little
felt stocking, made by Theo's great-grandmother—and hung it by the chimney with
care, I was struck by what that one small act really meant. In hanging the
stocking, I was acknowledging our son's presence in our lives and honoring him
as our child, but realized at the same time, that on Christmas morning there
would be nothing in his stocking.
The image in my mind of the stocking hanging, flat and
empty was so painful. And I did not want to put gifts in the stocking, candies,
toys or other stuffers, which we would then open "for him." Imagining
that scenario felt pitiful and hurtful. I did not know what to do. I just sat
and looked at the stocking. I knew I could not take it down. It was Theo's. I
would never, and will never, do anything to remove his memory, his presence,
his place in our family, from our lives. But the empty stocking seemed a
terribly looming symbol for everything we were missing.
And then I had an idea.
I raced upstairs to the computer and sent out an email
asking our family and friends for help. This is what I sent:
Dear Friends,
Sorry this is kind of late--I just thought of it. We
have a stocking hung for Theo (made by his great-grandmother, Jamie's
grandmother) with a pretty dragonfly pin on it. I got really sad thinking that
there will be nothing to put into his stocking for Christmas. And all of a
sudden I thought of something really nice that all of you could do to help give
Theo a present. And to help us feel a little better on Christmas. Sometime
between now and Christmas, do something nice for someone, no matter how small
or large, it doesn't have to involve money--just commit a random act of
kindness. When you do it, think of Theo and dedicate that act to him and his
sweet spirit. Please write it down and send it to me through e-mail. I won't
read it. I will print it out and put it in his stocking and then on Christmas
morning, we will open up all the notes and read them. If even only a few of you
do this, we will have a really beautiful thing to share on Christmas in our
sweet baby's memory and someone else (the recipient of your kindness) will
benefit by a true example of the spirit of Christmas. I will pray that all of
us will be struck by inspiration, that something will come to each of us, some
kindness that we can share of ourselves, in Theo's name and in his memory, to
benefit someone else. Thank you so much for your participation and your
continued love and support,
Karla and Jamie
We received more emails that I ever imagined we would.
People forwarded it on to others and I started getting mails in my inbox from
people I didn't even know, from all over the country and from 3 other countries
as well. It meant so much to us. Reading those kindnesses done in Theo’s memory
and dedicated to his spirit got me through that terrible first Christmas
morning without him. We continued the tradition the following year, 2007, as
well.
The third year, I felt a little different. It wasn't
as important to me to have the acts of kindness as tangible somethings in his
stocking. It was just part of the way grief changes over time. I didn't need
that physical act for myself anymore. I didn’t even need it for just him
anymore. But I did want to continue the tradition of doing the acts of kindness
in his memory. So I started Theo’s Stocking blog here and for the past 10
years, we have posted stories of the acts of kindness that people continued to
send so that anyone who wanted to could share in the love. Even just reading
the kindnesses makes your heart a little lighter and a little warmer.
Continuing the tradition of doing kindnesses in his
memory brings the knowledge that the love, strength, beauty and goodness that
he radiated still touches other people. I know that his love for us and ours
for him continues to spread like waves of light into the Universe. One of the
ways it does this is through simple acts of kindness that we choose to perform
for no other reason than to help another person. And that is, of course, the
true meaning of Christmas. It doesn't mean we have to spend a lot of money. It
doesn't mean extravagance and isn't about feeling pressured to "do
something." It can mean letting an extra car out in traffic—even when you
are running late. It can mean holding open the elevator door for the person
running to make it, taking the extra few minutes to really hear your
co-worker's response to the routine "how are you?" It can be taking a
bag of canned goods, even from your own pantry, to your community's Food Bank.
It can mean giving your time to your church or volunteering for other charity.
It can mean spending the few extra minutes to have a conversation with a
neighbor or helping someone with their bags or leaving an extra $5 or $10 tip
for your server.
We are all in need. When we find ourselves in times
like these, times when we may feel frightened or bogged down in self-centered
worries, the spirit of giving can truly provide, even if only for a moment, a
respite from our own troubles, from our own anxieties and fears. For that brief
moment we can be filled with that warmth of human kindness which is magnified
by the act of giving of ourselves to others. If you try it, you will see.
We invite you to participate in filling Theo's
stocking again this year. We invite you to do kindnesses in memory of your own
beloveds who you are missing this season. We invite you to pass this forward,
not only in your acts of kindness, but to others so they may have the
opportunity participate, joining in to continue to spread the spirit of love
and compassion through adding their own acts of kindness.
So, as I have asked every year:
Sometime
between now and Christmas, do something nice for someone, no matter how small
or large, it doesn't have to involve money--just commit a random act of
kindness.
We will post your stories here on this blog as they
are sent in so that we can all read and share in the kindness and love.
We wish a warm and safe and peaceful holiday to all.
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