Celebrating Christmas without a loved one?

If you have lost a loved one this year, the holiday season you anticipated with such joy for years may now bring feelings of sadness and worry about what it will be like.

My husband was called home to Heaven early this year, and naturally I miss him every day. I’ve tried to discipline myself all year to follow the maxim “live one day at a time.” If the thought of Christmas popped into my head, I would immediately squelch it: “Nope, can’t think about that.”

Well – especially in Branson – I can no longer refuse to think about Christmas. I’ve already had relatives from out of state here to attend Christmas shows and see holiday lights, so I put up my Christmas décor for them to enjoy.

I’m handling it fairly well – until I’m not. If you’ve experienced profound grief, you’ll know what I mean by ambushes. You think you’ve progressed and are “holding it together,” until a certain sight, sound or smell triggers something and you fall to pieces.

I’m a newbie at this, but may I share what I’ve learned so far this festive season (which may not feel very festive to you)?

While unpacking Christmas decorations, I surprised myself by not getting all teary-eyed. But then I came across a gift tag to me in his handwriting, still attached to the gift bag. He had used the funny nicknames we had for each other. A wave of sorrow rolled over me.

“I’ll never hear that special name again,” I thought, “and after 44 years I will never again receive even one present from him.” We typically didn’t give each other expensive gifts, but we put thought into them.

How have I eased that particular pain? Shopping the other day, I spotted a book I know he’d want me to have: a devotional called “Fifty Days of Heaven” by Randy Alcorn, a favorite author of us both. I slipped it into that gift bag he had used for me last year, with that tag still attached. Every time I see the bag propped next to one of my cheery snowmen, I smile. I’ll have something to open “from Tim” on Christmas Day. (And if Amazon delivered to Paradise, he’d get one from me too!)

After expressing my trepidation about the holidays to my niece, she acknowledged that it will be hard for me. But then she wrote “Christmas isn’t about us, though, so keep the reason for the season close to your heart and that will always help.” That wise advice was echoed at a grief support group I attend. When God “tells” me something twice, I start to listen.

I remembered something my husband had said about this time last year when we were getting close to starting hospice: “Christmas wouldn’t be such a bad time to go to Heaven. It’s when Jesus came to earth to save people – and He saved me!”

In God’s perfect timing, He kept Tim on this earth until January 30 (probably for my sake). However, Tim’s point was well-taken, so I decided I needed a visual reminder to make Christ central.

I purchased an inexpensive but attractive clear glass cross, about 10 inches high, on a pedestal, and placed it prominently in the center of a Christmas display, near photos of the two of us. Every time I see it, I remember that as believers it was Jesus’ sacrifice on a cross that covered our sins. The cross is the only reason my beloved is in Heaven – and the only reason I will join him there one day. Remember: the cross shadowed the manger.

Perhaps you are not a person who needs visual reminders, but for me they are helpful. I bought a red candle (a safe, battery-operated but attractive wax one). I plan to keep it on throughout the season and I see it as “Tim’s candle.” It makes my heart happy and in a tiny way I can feel he is still part of my celebration of Christ’s birth.

One final visual: instead of one tall Christmas tree, I have three tabletop trees. We loved travel, and most of the ornaments we purchased together on trips; others represent meaningful experiences. Someone told me that trees like that “tell the love story that God gifted to the two of you.”

The Christmas gift, the glass cross, the red candle and trees adorned with memories? All are helping me.

And the best help of all? The promises found in Isaiah 61 where we are told that Jesus came to heal the brokenhearted and comfort all who mourn. “All” means all, so that includes you too.        

Perhaps what I’ve learned so far will aid another grieving soul during this special – but perhaps challenging – holiday season. I hope and pray so.