Third Time’s the Charm (When it Comes to Dealing with Grief During the Holidays)

Everyone expects the “firsts” after we lose someone we love to be difficult: the first birthday without them, the first anniversary they aren’t here to celebrate, and certainly the first Holiday season. What got me was that the second Christmas without my dad was nearly as tough as the first. The hole was still there. I still felt like when I looked to the end of our pew during our church’s traditional Christmas Eve Candelight Service, he should be standing there singing. It still caught me a little off guard when he wasn’t. Grief stole from me yet another joyous holiday season.

  But this year was better. Do I still miss him? Of course. So many times, I think how much he’d have enjoyed something my daughters did or said. It still breaks my heart that mom celebrated alone during the times that we couldn’t be there with her, when we were with my husband’s family. My parents would have celebrated their 50^th wedding anniversary just one week before Christmas. I had planned that party in my head for years, imagining something like the picture I’d seen so many times of my grandparents celebrating their Golden Anniversary. I’m still angry that cancer stole that from my mom and dad. They endured so much over the years to finally make it to “the good life” as Dad called it.

  But, the truth is, it DOES get easier. The first year, I wanted to punch people in the face when they told me that. There was no way missing the most important person in my life would ever get easier. I didn’t want it to; because, that would mean I was forgetting him or that I cared less. Year two, the shock had worn off and he was started to seem further and further away. I struggled so hard to hang onto every detail, every little memory, that I wasn’t able to enjoy what was happening around me. But in year three, I found the peace I’d been missing since his passing. I KNOW without a doubt that my dad waits for us in Heaven. The time we’ve had so far is just the beginning as there’s an eternity of joy waiting when we all get there. I’ve known that, but had to heal enough that I could rest easy in that knowledge and stop hanging onto his memory so tightly. I’ll never forget him. I spent 31 years talking to him, and usually seeing him, on a daily basis. He’s in the mirror when I look into it and see the nose I used to hate but have come to love because it came from him. He’s in my oldest daughter’s corny jokes and in the youngest’s forehead.  He watches over us as we continue to live, to love, and enjoy the days that are given us. Because these days won’t last forever, no more wasting them on grief…

  This year, as we sang Silent Night holding our candles (just before my youngest broke out in screams of “I want my own (candle)!!!”, and tried to light the place on fire-  oh the irony of singing about a Silent Night with a two year old), and I saw my family as it is today- my mom, my husband, and our two beautiful children, one age 9 and one born 9 months and 1 week from the day my dad went to wait for us in heaven. The baby reminds me that the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away; that life is about changing and rolling with the punches.  She reminds me to enjoy life, and those in it, before mine is over and new life begins. But, most importantly, she reminds me that there is joy to be had even after such loss…it just sometimes takes 3 years to fully feel it again.