December 15, 2020
Updated December 2021
Surviving Christmas after losing someone. Do people realize how difficult it is for you to celebrate in the midst of your pain? Most don’t. But some people, they do know.
Surviving Christmas After Losing Someone.
You’re here, but you’re also somewhere else. The club you didn’t ask to be in. The club of having lost someone.
You’re a mother, or a sister, or a wife, or a daughter, or a friend. And you’ll participate in Christmas after losing someone. But it’s painful. And there are so many parts.
Shopping, gathering with people, decorating, all the traditions. So many different areas of life to face, so many expectations. And your responsibilities are still there.
Does Anyone See You?
I see you. We see you. Those who watched you say goodbye. We don’t know what to say.
To outsiders, your goodbye was an event.
To you it was the new road that appeared, the one you must travel now.
Someone isn’t there every day. If that isn’t hard enough, every holiday shines a bright spotlight on your loss.
How do you love a holiday now? How does joy reach you, breaking through grief?
Everyone has to learn coping skills, and we do. But cope seems a tiny word when your grief is tremendous. Your efforts start to feel like shoveling snow with a toothpick. Maybe you wonder why you will keep trying, if “coping” is all you can do. The snow doesn’t go away.
Furthermore, none of those holiday traditions really seem to bring you happiness. In fact, they sometimes do the opposite.
You didn’t mean to say that you dread it, but secretly you do. Facing it just reminds you of the absence again and again.
It’s discouraging. And yet you stay the course. You “press on” and allow yourself to be carried with the current.
It’s hard not to become resentful of the joy of those who have not been given that new sad road to walk.
BUT YOU KNOW SOME THINGS.
You know that the mind-numbing first month has passed, and the equally mind-numbing second and third months. And somehow you’ve figured out how to get through the days.
You also know that today is better than a few weeks ago, and that a year from now will be better than this day.
Something else:
You know a person who has traveled this road. In fact, you see them, trudging ahead of you, walking just a little bit lighter, their posture slightly straighter. They’ve reached out, and encouraged you.
That person is surviving just a little better. Better than they were before, and better than you are now.
And you know something about the rest of us.
You know we can’t handle it. Seeing how you feel.
You know you can’t really unload your sadness on the innocent. You’ll share a thought, or a moment, or a memory. But you’ll be merciful, and not show the full weight to those who haven’t walked in your shoes.
And yet we bring you our meager offerings of sympathy, of comfort, of hope. Knowing how insufficient these are against the vast sorrow you face. And you cope another day.
Somewhere inside you, there’s a truth that people keep repeating. That there’s more than just this pain.
Beneath the surface, something else shores it all up.
The something else is bigger than the meager expressions of kindness. It is bigger than the progress you have made, even bigger than the event that began your grief.
It is the assurance that beneath the sea of your tears is a formed ocean floor that is solid and unchanging, older than all the life and movement you see, and realized only in glimpses.
You know it exists, but your eyes cannot fully visualize it. Your feet cannot fully traverse it. All you can do is remember the truth of its existence, and trust its permanence.
Some days, you doubt its presence, but your knowledge assures you it’s there.
There is a solid foundation.
Surviving Christmas After Losing Someone. Some People Don’t Know.
We don’t.
But we see you, and we respect what you do:
The things you do in your life to honor the person you lost, whatever beauty you have found to offer in their memory, we notice and we cherish those things with you.
You have found ways to stay connected, to remember, and to keep those thoughts in your heart.
And No One Around You Is Qualified to Speak Of Your Pain.
What right do I have to address this?
I cannot pretend to know your grief. In fact, your grief finds the fear in my heart and shakes it awake.
I don’t have advice or answers for you, or experience to share.
Still, there are some things I am sure of.
Like these things: Water makes you wet, running makes you tired, and germs make you sick. Those things are true. And more.
People fall down. As invisible as gravity is, we know without a doubt that it exists. Its laws can be quite limiting, and even painful.
These things I know.
And I am also sure that the intricate world we know around us is created.
All of it — created:
- the structure of the seasons,
- the vastness of the universe,
- the life and death of creatures,
- the fingerprints that identify us,
- and the DNA that governs our features.
And the Creator has always been known.
And the Creator knows you.
God knows you, and calls to you.
The pain in our past somehow leads us to the Lord.
Today, and this season, I am thinking of you. Your courage, your strength, your struggles, and your future.
I am “that person who does not know”. And yet I know something.
A prayer for surviving Christmas after losing someone…
MY PRAYER FOR YOU:
Father, the person I pray for grieves a loss that doesn’t leave.
I ask that the divine comfort that comes from you can be poured over my friend. I ask that you bring understanding and healing, hope and restoration.
I thank you for the stories you create in our lives, and the lives you create in our stories.
I ask you to give my friend courage for what lies ahead, and to make truth the bedrock of all our thoughts.
More than all this, I beg you to teach us to trust in your love and your plan.
Shore up my friend in this season and always.
Give a glimpse of the sure foundation beneath the struggles. Show the vision of restoration, and then bring our pathway to it.
Give us grace in the moments with those around us to appreciate the joy we see.
Give us wisdom to know you will bring joy to us, a spoonful at a time in this dark world.
And remind us of the glorious day when we will be fully whole and without sorrow, the day you have planned for us.
Until we see that day, hold our loved ones in your loving arms, whole, unblemished, and without sorrow.
Comfort.
From those who DO know.
You. Thank you for being here, for reading. Come back soon.
If you’d like to find more stories of hope, please take a look at these insightful articles by real people sharing real pain. In fact, every single day while preparing this post, I’ve received yet another.
A story about a very sad loss: Coping With Grief at Marty’s Musings. Is she that person who is walking ahead of you? She has struggled with particularly distressing grief.
Some actual things you can do: Coping At Christmas When You Have Lost A Loved One. Her suggestions are so appropriate. Please look.
From Tim Challies, the tragedy still fresh, you can see that he remains unwavering in his faith: Four Weeks After Our Worst Day.
Maree Dee has a community that addresses personal challenges all year long. Read How To Make The Most of an Unexpected Christmas to see ten things she has learned about surviving the holidays.
I’ve been enjoying a focus on Christ, on relationships, and on you this season. If you’d like, check out earlier posts on A Simpler Christmas, Minimalist Gift Ideas, and Secrets to Giving the Perfect Gift.
Finding comfort is sometimes an ongoing mission, not a single event.
If reading about grief and aftermath somehow eases your pain, you might want to read the post about What Happens After Someone Dies.
Are you that person? Walking the sad road?
Tell me something:
When friends reach out, what are the words that comfort you the most?
Tell me here, in the comments, or contact me through email.
(I’m asking for a friend.😕)
One close friend
was kind enough
to prepare a response.
Grammye, it’s true. People do not know what to say. Often they get caught up in the fear. Also the gratefulness that they aren’t walking this path, or being a member of a horrible club (where you don’t want a T-shirt).
The most valuable gift you can give that person is to LISTEN when they share, and HUG them when they cry (even during a dang pandemic). They need to know that while you don’t have the words, you have their heart. And that you love them, and are helping to hold them up!
As a grieving mom, I can say this: It’s hard to watch other families with their kids growing and experiencing the things my son won’t.
And it’s hard to have friends disappear from your life because it’s “uncomfortable” for them to keep company with you.
-Always his mom.
You. Thank you. For being here for all of it. At GFP company is always welcome.
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-Grammye
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What a beautiful post. And the response from your friend spot on. Although my grief is not about losing someone to death but instead to an illness. What I want more than anything is to be heard. I don’t need anyone to fix it.
Although it is our human nature to try and fix or take away the pain. It can’t be done. I have walked beside a friend who lost her son. Over and over agains she has shared about the presence of another person is what she needs. Also someone who will listen. She also loves to know I have not forgotten her precious son. Stories about him warm her heart even when it brings a tear.
Thank you for your words and mentioning my post. It was an honor. I will share your post right now over on Facebook.
Merry Christmas!
Maree
Maree, What you said: It can’t be done. So true. How I wish I could fully accept that truth, but I have to be taught over and over. “Fix” is all-or-nothing response to a situation. And because it can’t be done, we’re left with nothing. “Walking beside” is our calling. It’s the thing we need to do when someone invites us into their story. Thanks for being here today with your kindness, and thanks for always opening your story to us.💖