A Light for My Path

Here they come again. I should be better prepared by now. This will be my 65^th time I’ve celebrated them. You know, the holidays. Although I don’t really remember the first few, but there is photographic evidence that I was there for them.

As a child, I was always filled with joyful anticipation of the fall and winter holidays. Starting with Halloween – getting to dress up as some pretend character (often in a costume my mother made) and gorging on candy for the next week. Finishing it just in time to open gifts and eat birthday cake on November 5^th. Then just a few weeks later sitting on the Sears Christmas catalog at the table with at least fifteen family members watching my grandfather carve a turkey that was bigger than me. And trying to be extra good for the next month so Santa would bring me the Chatty Cathy doll I longed for.

Back then it seemed like the world slowed down and the holidays took forever to get here. Now it feels like I’ve barely taken the damp beach towels off the porch rails from Labor Day weekend and I’m making my grocery list for Thanksgiving dinner.

I have to admit that once I grew up and had a family of my own, the holidays weren’t completely blissful. There’s the stress of how to divide the time between in-laws. Having to travel or figure out the logistics of family coming to stay with us, because we’ve lived at least 500 miles from “home” for more than 40 years now. The early years when our budgets were tight and Santa “might not be able to fit everything you want in his sleigh.”

But there was nothing that really marred the festivities. Our girls went trick-or-treating and the youngest had the added fun of celebrating her birthday on Halloween. The size of the Thanksgiving turkey varied from year to year depending on how many people were at the table. Santa always managed to fill the stockings and put presents under the tree, even though we didn’t have a chimney. And the Baby Jesus was always in the manger on Christmas morning.

When our older daughter and her husband started giving us grandchildren, the joy and blessings of the holidays just multiplied. And when our younger daughter got married in February of 2017, we were like children again anticipating how much fun the holidays would be.

Except she never saw another birthday, Thanksgiving, or Christmas. She died almost exactly two months after her wedding and five days before Easter.

I don’t remember how I made it through the holidays that year. We went to our older daughter’s and watched the grands open presents from Santa. But the words Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays made me angry. They mocked the visions I had composed of how our growing family would celebrate for years to come.

If you are a newly grieving parent and are wondering how you will ever be able to celebrate again, I understand. I really, really do. The truth is the holidays will never be the same.

The truth also is they won’t always be painful. They will be different because your family is different. But they can be joy-filled. It takes time. And it takes an effort on your part to open your heart again. Because sometimes we feel guilty for being happy. For looking forward instead of back.

Take baby steps. Pick one thing to be thankful for this Thanksgiving. Hang one ornament on the Christmas tree that reminds you of your child.

Year after year we look forward to the coming of the Christ child. He does, and will, come again. There is still a reason to celebrate.

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Laura