This Holiday Season, Don't Invite Grief Over!

Grief and Holidays go together like a thunderstorm at a summer picnic. One spoils the other. 

And at no time is such dissonance more on display than when grieving during the Christmas season. Memories combined with family traditions serve as a steady stream of trigger points, reminding you of what you have lost. Grief can be so confusing, so complicated. Many of us who grieve choose the easy way out—isolation. Either that or we practice saying “I am fine” a thousand times in anticipation of the season’s many gatherings.

Let’s face it. Holiday memories have the power to open the floodgates of our tears and emotions.

Before I ever experienced grief, I saw a sign that read, “Memories are something death can never take away.” I will never forget that quote. As I mourned the loss of my wife to cancer in 2011, those words bubbled up to my conscious mind and served as a comfort…and a warning.

It was a comfort to know that the memories I had of my wife were cherished ones—the kind that always put a smile on my face with each walk down memory lane. On the other hand, the memories were always there, just waiting for a sight, a sound, a smell to trigger a mental replay. Did they help me grieve? Or did they serve as a roadblock to moving on, an anchor keeping me mired in my grief? 

Memories can be debilitating.

My mom lived four years after my dad passed away, and I saw her grieve all four years. She was a role model of how NOT to grieve, as she never moved out of the grief process. She saw it as a tribute to their fifty-seven-year marriage. I saw it as a refusal to embrace her grief and learn to live with it. Watching her grieve, I knew one thing for sure—I did not want my grief to lead to indefinite depression.

As Christmas of 2011 approached, I recalled the encouraging words of St. John Paul II, “Do not abandon yourselves to despair. We are the Easter people, and hallelujah is our song.” I was in no mood to celebrate, much less shout hallelujah. Yet, I knew, for some reason, God still had a purpose for my life, even as a widower.

Grief can drive one to despair and depression. But it is also a sobering reminder that life is precious and should never be taken for granted. As I slowly emerged from my valley of tears, I allowed my heart to be grateful for what I once had and humbly sought God’s will for whatever remaining years I had left. It was a turning point for me. And, as painful as grief was, it drew me closer to the Lord.

Still, the question remained—how do I handle the memories, especially at Christmas?

What, dear Lord, do I do with this treasure chest of memories? Do I forget them in order to move on? Do I cherish them as a gift of remembrance and give thanks to God for the blessings those memories represent? 

I did not forget the memories of my wife, nor did I obsess over them—I chose to cherish them like a family heirloom—something precious worth preserving. As time passed, I learned to see those memories like a photo album on a shelf. Whenever I wanted to reminisce, I simply envisioned myself pulling that mental photo album off the shelf and going through the photos, giving thanks to the Author of Life. When done, I’d mentally place the album back on the shelf, wipe the tears off my face, smile, and move forward. 

Grieving a loss is normal for everyone.

But, as a follower of Christ, so too is finding comfort in Him and having hope.

The Christian singing group Casting Crowns recently released a song titled Scars in Heaven. Though the song was released this year (2021), the chorus summed up how I felt as Christmas 2011 approached.

“The only scars in heaven, they won't belong to me and you.

There'll be no such thing as broken, and all the old will be made new.

And the thought that makes me smile now, even as the tears fall down,

Is that the only scars in heaven are on the hands that hold you now”

Yes, I missed her terribly, but my wife was no longer in pain. Her suffering was over. I was grieving my loss and not appreciating her gain. She was now in the presence of the Lord. 

How could I not rejoice? How could I not shout hallelujah?

Yes, Christmas, with all of its traditions and family gatherings amplifies the absence of those not present. This most wonderful time of the year can also be the most painful one for some. 

So, how did I survive Christmas?

The Beatitudes promise that “Blessed are they who mourn, for they will be comforted.” And Christmas is a season whose very message is one of tidings of comfort and joy. Too often, we focus on the joy and forget the message of comfort. Christmas 2011 proved to be a time when I experienced God in a most holy and intimate way. I allowed family, friends, and more importantly, the Holy Comforter to encourage me and remind me what Christmas is really about.

And that is reason enough to shout Hallelujah!