Since Mila lost her vision, I've searched for ways to help her feel Christmas. It started with handing her ornaments and explaining what she was feeling. The next year, I held up her elbow so she could reach out and place a candy cane on the tree. This Christmas, I balanced her on my lap, one hand under her unstable head and the other under her arm, guiding it gently over the pine needles.
On Christmas Eve, Azlan's uncontrollable excitement fills our home. His toothless smile reminds me of Mila at his age. Instead of curling in pain as I fight off images of an unsure future, tonight I allow myself the joy of thinking of the life that awaits Azlan. Somehow, just somehow, we will be ok...
At Christmas, Mila would laugh with all of her body when the song Frosty the Snowman came on. Her smile lit up the room. I've been playing it this year, hoping for even the smallest reaction. But her face doesn't budge. So I lean down and pick her up, and we dance around the room, her body moving with mine.
At the beginning of the day, I sit Mila on the edge of her bed. Innately, I wrap my body around hers. The warmth of love moves through me... only to be cut short by a sudden jab of sadness. It's easy to stop there. To unlock my arms and legs and push through the rest of the day. Instead, I lower the protective wall inside me and allow my emotions to unravel.
The other day, I came across photos of Mila taken just before Christmas four years ago, only days after receiving her diagnosis. Her arm reached out for an ornament, but her eyes were somewhere else. It was obvious that she could no longer see but at the time I wasn't convinced. Now I look at current photos and struggle to grasp our reality.
My written Blog has been a place to be honest with myself, with the world. But writing this one has perhaps been the hardest so far... "Just at a time when I face the depths of my journey with Mila, I find myself in a place like no other. I wake up each day and force myself to say out loud that today is a new day."
These days, it's become harder to escape the heaviness of my life. I've struggled to find ways to break through it. But the other day, as I scooped ice cream for Azlan and his friends, their eagerness and excitement over something so simple struck me. I allowed myself to slip into their childlike world for just a moment and I felt a shift. The lightness I had been looking for.
Since Mila was little, singing has been part of our every day. She would shake her hips side to side as she bellowed the words to Puff the Magic Dragon. After losing her vision and last words, singing has become my way of communicating with Mila. A way of expressing my love.
