Our “Different Kind of Christmas” Wish
Within days of Mark’s death, I started dreading the
holidays. How on earth would I
find any desire to celebrate anything, ever again, without the boy who first
made me a mommy? Without seeing him loping through my kitchen stealing donut holes,
and hugging me with his rough beard scratching my face? Without his gentle, “Oh, Mama, relax” All
the traditions, laughter, memories we have shared are now finite. There will be
no more on this earth with him.
This creates a physical pain that should stop my heart, but somehow
doesn’t. There are days when my
bed calls me to escape into sleep where I can pretend none of this ever
happened. Sometimes I answer that
call and hope to wake up and find out this was a mistake, it wasn’t really him
in the car.
I’m not going to lie.
Some days we are just going through the motions, like shadows of the
family we used to be. We crawl in
bed together and weep without speaking.
We forget things and snap at each other. We lose ourselves in reading, and projects and
games…anything to keep us from thinking about the tragedy that has hit us like
a meteorite and has left a huge hole in our hearts.
But some days we do actually laugh, connect and sometimes
even dance. And as we have somehow
breathed through the summer, start of School (what would have been Mark’s
senior year), Daniel and Maria’s birthdays, we have learned a new rhythm. It is a rhythm of dependence on God for
our very breath. And in these
moments, we look at each other with sad, but hopeful, bloodshot eyes and know
we will be okay. God is breathing
into us a New Song. It is in a
minor key, for now, but it is a new beautiful song nonetheless.
So, like it or not the holidays are here. And oddly, I have found myself enjoying
preparing for Christmas. I had a
twinge of guilt about that. Not
because Mark would mind…oh no…he would demand I celebrate. But more because a newly grieving
Mother is supposed to suffer through Christmas, right? Isn’t that what we
hear? “The holidays are so
hard. You just have to get through
them.” It is very normal to hear
that the tree doesn’t get put up for years or it is just too painful to
decorate. I get it, I really do. When I pulled out the stocking I made
for Markie as a baby, it wrecked me. I dread the moment when I call the kids to sit on the
steps for our traditional Christmas morning picture. No words can describe the panic and pit in my stomach I feel
when I think about that. And, as I
continue to share where I am, please know that I am only speaking for myself in
this moment and may very well crawl in a hole on Christmas day. And I don’t judge anyone who does. This is an unbearable pain and you just
have to do what you have to do sometimes to make it to the next minute.
But here is the deal…Christmas is not about Mark. It is no more about Mark than it is about Santa. It is about Jesus, a God-person. It is His birthday, and I would no more
not acknowledge his birthday than I would not acknowledge Will or Daniel or
Maria’s birthdays. And this year,
the meaning is even deeper and more special because I am so aware that because
of God’s love for me He sent his Son to die for me. Sure, He knew how it would all end, but He still had to
watch what He most loved die a painful death, and then overcome the power of
the grave! Of course, He is God,
but does that lessen the pain? Or
maybe because He is the perfect Father, it actually increases the pain? If
Grief is the cost of Love, wouldn’t the Ultimate Love Grieve the Hardest? The ultimate sacrifice made because of
love…wow. Because of this, I
can be in relationship with God and one day be reunited with my Mark for all
eternity as we worship God together.
So this Christmas, I refuse to celebrate Fake
Christmas. Putting wreaths on my
windows makes me want to cuss. Not
an act of worship. I’m not doing
it. (Think about it, would you
want someone cussing while making your birthday cake?) I might not feel like
going to parties, or baking cookies and that is okay. But I am going to do things that say, “I love you,
Jesus.” I am going to connect with
my son, Mark, in heaven because Christ lives in me and Christ lives in
Mark. I am going to treasure
memories, and offer my tears to God as a liquid gift this Christmas. I am going to accept His Gift of Jesus
as I breathe in and out. Yes,
Christmas will be hard. But I
refuse to “just get through it.”
Life is too short for that.
I believe that God has special
gifts for those of us who have an empty seat or seats at our table this year. Let’s invite Jesus to fill that empty
space and watch for what He has for us…whether through tears or laughter. So…this year, I might not wish you a
Merry Christmas, but I can wholeheartedly wish you a Hope-Full Christmas.
God is Super Good.
Leigh Ellen
