This Christmas will be my tenth Christmas without Kris. I have set an intention that I will not drown in my memories of the chaos, the fear, the struggle against the desperate need for the drug, the lonely partying into the dark hours of the night and the hideous pain of addiction.
These memories do not allow me to heal and recover ready for new curious and joyful times. I will not forget Kristopher, he sits beside me every minute of the day. Mothers who lose a child know there is no relief from the longing for life to be different.
My memories this year are of the fun times we have had together, the spontaneous hugs, the laughs, the trips to Lorne, pigging out with nana and grandpa, having cousins come to stay, friends from over the fence bouncing basketballs and riding toddler bikes at great speed down the steep driveway.
These wonderful memories are easily overshadowed by the chaotic memories leaving me believing that only chaos and fear existed.
I will laugh heartedly at the vision of Kristopher flat on his back in the kitchen after demonstrating his roller blade skills, or the pizza stuck to his forehead, dancing with him at the Gunnas concert and the joy of seeing the Harlem Globetrotters.