January 1, 2021
How can it be that I haven't heard his voice since December 15, 2018? That exactly two years have passed since I held his hand, kissed his cheek, watched his chest rise and fall? Every day moves me further from that last moment with Chandler on this earth.
The Christmas and New Year's holidays bring a series of salient…brutal… reminders.
I hate that the stocking that says “Chandler” is the only one left hanging on the stairs. I hate that every time I see a Santa hat, my first thought is of that late afternoon when Chandler was riding to work on his bike, complete with Santa hat. I hate that when my kids draw names for Secret Santa, they are painfully aware of the name that is missing. I hate that I don't get to look across the table at Christmas dinner and see Chandler...shirtless, of course.
I love that friends of Chandler brought things to his bench to honor and remember him during these holidays and am grateful we were granted permission to leave those items in place until January 4. I love that Chandler still wins family games because there's just no way to award anyone else the points for questions like, "Who is most likely to lock him or herself in the trunk of a car as a joke?" I love that Chandler's name falls off our tongues easily and often. He is still here with us and always will be. We will always remember, always hurt, always miss him. He is a part of us -- forever.
The pain is different now. It's taken on a new shape, a somewhat discernible rhythm, a veil of normalcy. I don't understand how it happens, how something that seems so NOT normal could become a new normal. But it has happened with time. Grief itself, missing Chandler, does not feel new to me any more. It has become as much a part of me as my bones and my skin. It still sneaks up on me at times and kicks my butt hard, but in general, I'm not surprised by it anymore.
Despite the inherent difficulty of this holiday season, I remain deeply grateful that our family has continued to find comfort and strength and joy and life in being together. Christmas Eve and day were absolutely perfect -- watching Christmas movies, driving around looking at Christmas lights, playing games (yes, it is possible to win a video game solely because you don't know how to move your player, so you stay put in one room while everyone else gets killed), opening gifts, and gorging ourselves on tamales, enchiladas, beans, rice, and Chase's homemade sinful sopapillas. Tonight we were all together for New Year’s dinner. These people…my heart and soul. My heart and soul.
Two days before New Year’s, the Espinozas welcomed a new family member.
We are a dog family, no two ways about it. Actually a two-dog family. We sorely miss D'Marcus and Maddie. Just before Thanksgiving, I had told a couple of friends that I really wanted a goldendoodle. Have you tried to find a puppy or a dog since March when the COVID craziness started? It's not an easy endeavor. Two days later, goldendoodle puppies popped up on my FaceBook feed, available from the cousin of someone I was already friends with on FB. We put in a deposit that day and have been receiving pictures almost weekly since then. Yesterday, Blu came home to us. Her name was going to be MaisyBlu, but it turned out to just be too close to "Maddie." Now that she's home with us, we agree that she's definitely a Blu.
This little girl has the sweetest, most loving temperament. Hugging her is like hugging the fluffiest, silkiest teddy bear you could ever imagine. We are all smitten, obsessed, and in love. She is bringing us so much joy, and we've only had her two days. I will be posting too many pics on social media because, I'm so sorry to brag, but she is the cutest dog ever, and I'm certain she's a prodigy.
I had to write about Blu because she is one more way God is showing up for us, especially during this season, reminding us -- I am WITH you, bringing us a beautiful spark of life.
We will never stop missing you, Chandler. We will always, always remember and miss and hurt because you are a part of us...forever. My mind can’t comprehend this new reality that is the source of my greatest comfort— you are with God, and God is with us. It is too much to grasp. But I believe. And I know I will see you again, Chandler. Until then…I love you always and forever, my sweet boy.
