|
| |
Why Christmas Is The Hardest
Holiday
by Darcie Sims
Why Christmas Is The Hardest Holiday? Is it because
of all those traditions that
mean so much but now lie broken and empty in my heart? Is it especially hard
now...because every time I try to roll out the cookie dough, tears drop into
little salt pools on the counter? Is Christmas so hard now because of all the
tinsel and tissue? Because
of all the crowds dashing madly into and out of stores...buying something
wonderful for someone wonderful? Is Christmas so hard now because I don't need
to shop or bake or decorate any more? Is Christmas so hard because I don't have
someone wonderful any more?
It's been a long time since I endured my first bereaved holiday season, but even
now, my heart sometimes still echoes with emptiness as I roll out the cookie
dough or hang his special ornament on our treasure tree. I think that hurt will
always be with me, but now I know it only as a momentary ache - not like the
first year when grief washed over me in waves, each new wave hurling me deeper
and deeper into despair.
And it's not like the second year's hurt when I found myself both surprised and
angry that IT hadn't gone away yet. I grew anxious about my sanity in the third
year when my hands shook as I unwrapped the precious ornaments. When was I going
to get better?! When was grief going to end?! Was I doomed to suffer miserably
at every
holiday for the rest of my life?!
The year the little satin balls fell off the tree, I gave up. Even the Christmas
tree died! As my daughter and I dragged the brittle (and shedding) mess out into
the snowdrift on Christmas morning, I knew we had reached the bottom. He had
died, but we were alive. Had our grief so permeated our house, our lives, that
even a Christmas tree could not survive? His death was more than enough...had
we lost love , too?
That was the year we began to understand. And that was the year we decided to
keep Christmas anyway. So what if our now completely bare tree was stuck in the
snowdrift, already waiting for the garbage men? So what if the cookies were
still a bit too salty with tears? In the middle of that Christmas day, now years
past, we returned to that forlorn, frozen stick of a tree. And carefully, we
hung the bare branches with popcorn strings and suet balls (not quite the same
as satin!). I'm sure we were a strange sight that afternoon, but with a mixture
of tears and
snowflakes, we began to let the hurt out and make room for the healing to begin.
With each kernel strung, we found ourselves remembering. Some memories came with
pain. Others began to grow within us - warming heart-places we thought had
frozen long ago. By the time we were finished, we were exhausted. Memories take
a lot of work! At last we had a tree (although it was not the one we were
expecting), but we had one, decorated with tears and memories, sadness and
remembered laughter.
And now we've grown older (and maybe a little wiser) and we've learned that love
isn't something you toss out, bury, pack away, or forget. Love isn't something
that ends with death. Life can become good and whole and complete once again not
when we try to till up the empty spaces left by loved ones no longer within
hug's reach, but when we realize that love creates new spaces in the heart and
expands the spirit and deepens the joy of simply being alive.
We saved a tiny twig from that frozen tree...to remind us of what we almost
lost. That was the year we chose to let Christmas come back. Now we don't have
to wait for joy to return. For now we know it lives within us - where Christmas
is EVERY DAY.
Reprinted from November/December 1987 issue of Bereavement
Magazine
Reprint permission granted to TCF
Copyright 2001 Bereavement Publishing, Inc. 1-888-604-4673
www.bereavementmag.com
|
