Grief for the Holidays

Three years ago I faced my first Christmas without my mom. She had passed away six months prior, so I was still in what I call my “year of firsts” – first celebration of my kids’ birthdays, first Thanksgiving, and now first Christmas. I will admit Thanksgiving wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be because we hadn’t spent it with her for the past two or three years. So this particular Thanksgiving, living happily in the land of denial, I was able to pretend all was okay. It wasn’t until a couple of days later, when we started decorating for Christmas, that reality and grief knocked me back into my sea of grief.

I was doing fine as I brought out our Christmas decorations, until I encountered some of my mom’s decorations. It started with a box containing her tree topper. It wasn’t necessarily the tree topper itself, but her handwriting on the box. I gasped. Tears flowed down my cheek. I took a few deep breaths, calmed myself down, and went downstairs to continue decorating. A few moments later, I came across some of the collector’s ornaments she had given me throughout the years. Again, tears. Finally, I unpacked the stocking she made for me when I was six. Memories of her writing my name in glue and colorful glitter and the excitement I felt of having my new stocking filled my head. Unable to handle any more, I went to my room and let my family finish the decorating.

For the rest of the Christmas season, I went through the motions of buying gifts, sending cards, and attending events. I tried to avoid any cheerful, celebratory Christmas songs. I remember running out of a store because they were playing a certain Christmas album by my mom’s favorite singer. I sat in my car and cried before calling my husband for words of comfort. I was an emotional wreck as I tried, and failed miserably, to push down any emotion. I wanted the season to be over and for life to resume to my new normal.

As I reflect upon that time, I understand now the depth of my grief and why I didn’t and couldn’t enjoy that particular Christmas. This was the time of year to celebrate, to be merry and bright, and full of fun. But, I didn’t want to celebrate, I couldn’t be merry and bright, and I sure wasn’t full of fun. Grief and loneliness filled those spaces, leaving no room for the celebratory season of Christmas. This was my season of grief – “a time to weep…a time to mourn,” (Ecclesiastes 3:4, ESV).

From my previous experiences with grief, I learned it was better to seek the Lord and find comfort in Him, as running away made life even more unbearable. The only thing I could do was hold fast to the Word of God. He was (and still is) my hope. Though at times I failed, I know He never left my side.

“Weeping may tarry for the night; but joy comes in the morning.”

Last week, we decorated for Christmas and it was easier. As we pulled out certain ornaments given to us by my mom, we reflected on her love of Christmas, her generosity, and her sense of humor. Though a few ripples of grief flowed through me, I took joy and comfort in her memory, which I couldn’t have done three years ago. The Word of God holds true: “Weeping may tarry for the night; but joy comes in the morning.” (Psalm 30:5, ESV)

For those of you who feel as if you are drowning in grief right now, I want you to know it will get better. I’m sure those words sound hollow, but instead of brushing them away, please see them as words of hope from someone who has felt the same waves of grief. Show yourself grace and know you will come through this. Allow yourself to feel the grief, because it only makes the joy and happiness that much brighter and more precious. Most importantly, hold fast to the Lord. He will carry you through and comfort your grieving spirit, restoring joy to your soul.