Navigating Grief During the Holidays

The calendar said it was Christmas time, but my heart said “No.”  The schedule said it was time to decorate, select a tree, go to parties, and sing songs of joy, but my heart said, “How can I?” How can I pretend to celebrate when, on the inside, I am shattered?”  

Christmas was here, but my youngest child was not.  He passed away that July at the young age of 20, and our family was changed forever. I was changed forever.  And now here, only five months later, the mental tug-of-war with the holidays had begun.  A part of me could not accept that he was gone, yet the other part could not deny the empty chair.

Kind friends told me to celebrate Christmas however I needed to. But that was the problem: I didn’t want to celebrate. I didn’t even want to face the season. Yet, as much as I wished, I could not just press “fast-forward” on the holidays and make the season disappear. I had to walk through it, but the pain I was carrying was like a towering burden that I could not see around. It filled me.  How was I to do all of the things I used to do—things like shopping, decorating, cooking, and attending parties—when my son was gone?

We decided that Christmas would need to be simple. The thought of a lush, perfectly shaped tree from the store seemed to mock our pain, so my husband and I drove to the pasture and hunted for a naturally imperfect and wild Cedar. We would not display our family ornaments collected over the past 25 years, as memories of the milestones and family vacations would only tear at our broken hearts even more. Instead, we strung white lights and quietly tied small red ribbons, one by one, on fragile branches.   Our tree was crooked; it leaned toward the front door. We could’ve tied a bit of fishing line, pulled it to center, made it stand straight, and pinned it tight. But seeing the imperfect tree glowing in the corner of the room seemed right.  It was a nod to our Christmas of beauty and pain coexisting. 

Wearing the “I’m Okay” Mask

But outside of our home, our grief seemed to clash with the merriment, the bright lights, the parties, and the lively “Merry Christmas!” greetings. It was almost as if a sign had been posted on the door of the holiday: “No grief allowed; leave all sadness outside.” So, I pretended to be okay, laugh, and smile at gatherings, parties, and church services, but playing that charade left me feeling more dead than alive. Wearing that mask caused me to feel unseen. 

I wondered what others with unraveled lives did with their pain at Christmas. Did they deny it, wear a mask, or stay home behind closed doors and isolate until the twinkle lights were unplugged and the tree set to the curb? Was there no place for heartache at Christmas?

I went to the Bible, where the story of the first Christmas is told.  And there I read over and over that lament, heartache, and grief have a place: they are welcomed. Jesus came to earth over 2000 years ago, took on human flesh, and was born in a stable that very first Christmas to not only save us from our sins but bear our griefs and carry our sorrows. 

Jesus Welcomes Our Heavy Hearts

We are invited to bring our burdens to the Prince of Peace. Matthew 11:28 says, “Come to me all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.” He understands our anguish, our tossing and turning, and our tears. He is collecting them in a bottle. He knows the meaning behind each tear and has recorded them in His book.  God’s care for us is both intimate and tender. It is He who heals our broken hearts and bandages our wounds. (Psalm 147:3)

While we may not show our tears, anger, doubt, and confusion at a party, we are always welcome to share them with Jesus. He invites us to remove our masks and set aside the glitter, ribbons, tinsel, and wrapping—coming to Him just as we are.

We Are Never Abandoned

When we feel alone in our pain because life goes on for the rest of the world, we can be encouraged that the Savior of the World is with us.  He is close to the brokenhearted; he rescues those whose spirits are crushed. (Psalm 34:18).  He is the source of all comfort and comforts us in all our affliction (2^nd Corinthians 1:3-4). 

A date on the calendar or the time of year may heighten the pain of our grief, but we are not left to hold our burden alone.  Both joyful songs and moments of tearful silence are intended to bring us closer to the Comforter, Counselor, and Prince of Peace—Emmanuel, the God who is with us in every circumstance. Whether we are filled with the Christmas spirit or feeling crushed in spirit, He is always present.

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Four years later, our Christmas tree stands straight but is trimmed only with lights—some white, some blue. The ornaments are still in a box; maybe one day, they will find a place, but for this Christmas season, our tree glowing in the corner continues to reflect both the beauty and pain in the season.

This Christmas, may your heavy heart feel a little lighter, knowing there is a safe and welcoming place to bring your burdens during the holidays and throughout the year.

 The Prince of Peace has come.

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