Christmas Grief

Christmas is usually crammed full of jingle bells and jolly times. But not always, and not for everyone.

Just as Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year it can also be the most miserable time of the year.

As a child my Christmases were filled with anticipation and joy and iced cookies with lots of sprinkles. My parents loved hiding gifts and surprising my sisters and I with unexpected delights.

But when I grew up life didn’t center around Christmas surprises and goodies anymore. Life was hard at times—even at Christmas.

My husband suffered from depression. At times it was debilitating for him. And those times almost always included Christmas. His PTSD from serving in Vietnam made matters worse. December seemed to be the lowest time of the year for him.

Don’t get me wrong. Both my husband and I loved Christmas. He wasn’t usually a fan of shopping, but for Christmas he pulled out all the cash he could and bought all the gifts he could for those he loved. He was a very generous man. I’m thankful for many happy memories of him pulling off surprises and finding unique ways to gift every member of the family with cash.

But beyond the gift giving he struggled to have the “joy” that Christmas is supposed to bring. That meant our children and I faced some unique challenges trying to keep the season merry and bright.

Late into our marriage my husband got professional help with his depression and that made celebrating Christmas a little easier for him (and us) for about ten years.

In the midst of that time a tragedy happened in our lives. Our son died unexpectedly of a heart attack. He was thirty years old.

That drew a dark curtain over the next few Christmases at our house. How could we celebrate? How could we enjoy jolly times without Stephen?

How We Dealt With It

It took time. Nobody wants to hear that answer. But it is true. It takes time to heal from a grief so deep you can hardly breathe.

It took determination. We had to make up our minds that we were going to find something in Christmas that we could enjoy.

It took avoidance. Yes, we deliberately avoided certain aspects of Christmas that our family had traditionally enjoyed. Stephen loved pecan pie. I had made one for him every Christmas since he was four or five years old. But not the Christmas after his death. Nor the next, nor the next. It was probably ten years before I could make another pecan pie and enjoy it.

Our Christmas tree was decorated with little kid-made ornaments from our children’s youth. But not the Christmas after Stephen’s death. I packed those ornaments away and didn’t pull them out again for many years. I bought shiny new ornaments and decorated our tree in a totally different fashion. It was the only way I could bear to look at it.

Other things changed, too. The hole in our hearts was so deep that we had to find different ways to celebrate or be sucked down into that black hole of grief.

It took prayer. Not the “bless this food” or “lay me down to sleep” kind of prayer. It took submitting my heart to God’s perfect will. It took throwing myself into the arms of Jesus and crying on His shoulder. It took whining and pouting and beating my fists on God’s chest. It took prayer that leads to surrender to the greater will of my loving Father. It took learning to trust that He always knows best.

It took permission. We were counseled wisely to give ourselves permission to be sad. To let the sadness play its role in our Christmas. Over the years I would sit down before Christmas and stroll through old photo albums remembering the vacations, birthdays, Christmases and graduations. I would spend that day crying and letting the sadness cover me like a quilt. But I knew that the next day I would get up from that position and move forward with the things families do to build new memories of Christmas and other important events.

Time, determination, avoidance, prayer, permission.

They helped us to find a new way to celebrate and a way to find new joy at Christmas.

In my grief I learned to see Christmas through God’s eyes a little, I think. Was it a joyous event for the Father? Or did He grieve because His Son was far away in a strange place surrounded by sinful people? Did He weep because He knew what His Son was going to endure in the years after that Silent Night?

Maybe God’s full and complete joy came not at the manger, but at the empty tomb.

That’s where I find my Christmas joy—at the hope of the empty tomb.

Jean Hall lives in Louisville, Kentucky. She is represented by Cyle Young of Hartline Literary. Her premier picture book series Four Seasons was recently signed by Little Lamb Books. Jean is a member of the SCBWI, Word Weavers International, and the Kentucky Christian Writers. Visit Jean at www.jeanmatthewhall.com, on Facebook at Jean Matthew Hall, and on Twitter as @Jean_Hall.