Merry Christmas EVE

I woke up this morning already crying.  I know it sounds foolish and naïve to say that I didn't think Christmas EVE would be this sad, but there you go.  I didn't.

I mean, I'm not dumb.  I knew Christmas wasn't going to be easy.  Bereaved people everywhere are missing their loved ones on Christmas.  That's a given.

But this isn't Christmas.  It's Christmas EVE, and that's harder.

Vicki's husband Wally and I were talking about grief recently - I think it was before Vicki even died - about how it's not the big, obviously sad things that will get to you, but rather that you'll be standing in the kitchen, looking at a spatula, and burst into tears because you remember that one time that Vicki did that one thing, and suddenly her loss is unbearable.

I made it through this week of planning her funeral service, choosing flowers, looking through old pictures for the memorial video and picking up her ashes from the crematorium almost entirely dry-eyed.

But Christmas EVE?  Christmas EVE is a god-damn spatula.

Vicki and I had a long-standing (30+ years) tradition of wishing each other a Merry Christmas EVE.  In all caps.  Generally spoken at top volume in a mocking, challenging (but oh-so loving) way.

It all started waaaay back when we were in high school, with an otherwise unremarkable scene from the soap opera Days of Our Lives:  Shane (do you remember Shane?  Charles Shaughnessy was SO swoon-worthy) wished his daughter Eve a Merry Christmas.

That's it.  Just, "Merry Christmas, Eve."

But in a way that is only funny to teenagers, Vicki and I thought this was hilarious and repeated it to each other endlessly. It was an instant Christmas tradition, and - because we're sisters - it immediately became a competition, too, complete with a set of arbitrary rules and a mental scorecard of who WON.  (In case you're wondering:  to win, you had to be the first to complete the sentence out loud - not via text - in the presence of the other person, on the day before the holiday.)

Yep.  Stole it from Google Images.

Over the years, it expanded well beyond Christmas to include birthdays, Halloween, Thanksgiving, New Year's, the 4th of July and pretty much any major or minor holiday.  Because more holidays meant more chances to win, obviously.

Or - now - more chances to miss my sister.

It's only been nine days, but honestly, I've been doing pretty good on the "missing her" front.  Denial and her companion Disassociation have been very helpful to me, keeping the sadness at bay, and getting me through the tough moments where I almost - but not quite - acknowledge that Vicki is actually gone, and that the last time she wished me a Happy EVE was the last time she was going to.

It was the day before Thanksgiving.

I don't remember why I was at her house, but I seem to recall that it was just a quick visit.  I climbed the stairs to find her lying in bed, awake and semi-lucid (already getting more and more rare - a real treat that I savored in the moment and have thought of many times since).

I climbed on the bed.

"Hey, pretty girl.  You're awake!  Do you have something to say to me?"

"I'm sorry…??" she said, looking mildly concerned.

"You don't have anything to be sorry about!" I laughed and kissed the top of her sweet bald head.  "But.  Haaaaaapppp…" I prodded.

"Haaaaappppy…  Thaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnksgiving…  EVE!" she said in unison with me, with some confusion.  "It's Thanksgiving tomorrow?"

I assured her that yes, it was.  And even then, there was a part of me that knew.

Technically?  I won Thanksgiving.  But oh my god, in the weeks since then I've lost everything.

The silly traditions, the stories, the memories.  All the hundreds - thousands - of strings that bound us together at the core snapped and floated away from me when Vicki died.  And today, I find myself leaping and shouting, desperately trying to grasp those cords and pull her back to me for one more laugh, one more hug, one more EVE. 

But she's gone. 

And I'm here, with my hands empty and my eyes full of tears.

Merry Christmas, Eve.