Every day I wake up thinking…today is the day. Today I will decorate for Christmas.
And then, I don’t. I won’t. I can’t.
Tim and Cambria using up a Chapters Gift Card. Dec 2021 Our last Christmas with Tim.
Baking Almost Done
Shopping Done
Outdoor decorations Sort of
Indoor decorations
Not. A. Chance.
December 2013
Grief is a funny thing and not in the ha-ha way. The crushing, take you to your knees, assaults have almost stopped. For that I’m thankful, however, the sorrow remains and continues to show up in unexpected ways. If you saw me in public, you’d never know anything was wrong. I’ve stopped, well almost stopped, reminding people, including strangers, that my son recently died. Yet Tim’s death has left me wondering what Christmas this year will be.
Courtney and Landon, who have been incredibly supportive as they learn to live with their own loss & grief, suggest that putting up decorations may be ‘good for me’. They remind me how much I love our Christmas Village. I do love that village, as do the grandkids. It provides endless ‘scope for the imagination’. Setting it up is a LOT of work. Work I typically enjoy. But the joy in enjoy is missing.
Carol’s Lifeline
1956-1981 Christmas before Tim.
1982-2021 Christmas with Tim.
2022 ongoing Christmas without Tim.
A new and unwanted tradition forced upon us by Cancer.
*Big sigh
followed by a quiet deep breath
A week ago, Jim and I went to a grief seminar about surviving the holidays. There were about 30 people in the group. Most of the participants have lost a spouse, although some, like us, have lost a child. There was some practical information that I will tuck away for later but what had the greatest impact was being in a room filled with unabashed, poignant sorrow. This room knew loss. Deep, life changing loss. Here was safety and fellowship. A fellowship of reverence. I’m glad I went.
My new advent: the arrival of a ‘new to me’ holiday. The christian Christmas celebrates the birth of Christ. The beginning of salvation. For unto us a child is born! My personal refrain and either bear with me here or avert your eyes: For unto me my son is dead. A brutal, jarring, truth. Will Christ’s birth take away the sting of my son’s death? Can the two exist side-by-side?
The best I can say today is, I hope so.
Lest you think I’m not trying, that I’m being dramatic, or melodramatic, a Christmas quitter, please take note that I did unpack Christmas music, my name being Carol, as in Christmas, after all. Binders and books of Christmas music came out of storage. Surely playing piano would stir up some Christmas spirit. Not at chance. This music holds too many memories. Memories that are still piercing, sad, and filled with more sorrow than I can bear.
The music remains stacked on the piano.
So here we are. Dec 4, 2022.
I have accomplished: lots of baking, bought many presents which now require wrapping, have my eye on branches for decorating the outdoors.
And that’s it. Anything beyond that is not achievable, at least not today.
How do you celebrate Christmas with your broken heart? Do you? I’d love to hear about what you do or don’t do? My career was largely as a helper. It is difficult to admit/ask for help but here we are. As a grief community, can we help each other?
I miss you Tim. Christmas simply isn’t Christmas, without you.
Take care,
Carol
Better is Possible 