Tonight I sat and stared at the Christmas tree my parents put up this year. My eyes quickly focused in on a small ornament I had bought a little over a year ago today. I remember like it were yesterday when I had brought Prince into this small mom and pop Christmas store in search of his first Christmas ornament for his very first Christmas (which unknown to me at the time also happened to be his last). The ornament was of a baby in a pea pod shaped frog outfit. The baby was wearing a crown and a cape and it had a simple inscription: “Little Prince”
The baby seemed to stare out at me from amongst the other ornaments on the tree. As I stared back at it, I couldn’t help but to cry. Despite how strong people have said I am throughout this ordeal, I didn’t feel strong in that moment. The helpless emotions I have been feeling throughout this holiday season came rushing out as I stared at a small token that represented my little Prince. I stared at the tree and remembered how instead of my son sleeping peacefully in his crib, his body lay cold in the ground.
This coming week will mark eleven weeks since my son died. This time of year is a time when people tend to reflect on the year and think about how they will “change” or “reform” or “resolve” for the new year. I have spent a considerable amount of time thinking about my son and how much time I spent trying to protect him. I have put a lot of thought into how I will transfer that energy into getting Justice for my son and holding the “periphery criminals” (those who stood, and continue to stand, one the outside periphery of Luc and both condone and enable his criminal behavior) accountable as well.
Beyond this, however, I am also focused on how I can be the type of person my son will be proud of. This might sound strange to those who don’t believe in an afterlife, but bear with me on this one. Every day I wake up, I balance my firey burning rage against the system that failed my son and the demon Luc himself. There are moments, however, when I imagine my little boy watching me from heaven. I don’t want him to see me angry all the time and full of hate. I want him to see me as I would have wanted him to see me had he lived.
So in the new year, I am not making a New Years resolution that will fade in a few months as life gets busy. I am starting the new year deep in thought about how I can be the woman my son will always be proud of. This is not something that can be accomplished overnight because I have some work to do. I need to be able to wake up without wanting to punch a hole in the wall in anger about what has happened – I need to be able to focus my anger into justice achieving activities – I need to be able to move forward with grace in the face of the most horrendously bad lifetime movie-esque story.