The hustle and bustle of the holiday season begins. Shopping carts and arms are overflowing with purchases. At the beginning of the season there is a feeling of joy, the miraculous part of Christmas when good humor prevails; and all are involved in the joyous preparation. We become “Santa” as we plan the perfect Christmas celebration. We credit Santa with joyful moods, family celebrations, and the perfect gift.
Once I played the role of Santa Claus, like them. Today, there is something missing from the Santa scene…my son. Since our first Christmas without Chad, I have never been as excited about the holiday as I have been. There is a predominant sense of pain that looms over the joy felt by others. Suffocate the consolation of music; it takes the fun out of tradition; and dulls many memories that once shone.
Grief and Ebenezer Scrooge are good bedfellows. I soon realized the the center of our vacations are our loved ones. When one of them is missing, our vacations are bound to change to fit a different life without them. Chad was the special item that put “thanks” on Thanksgiving, “happy” on Birthdays, and “merry” on Christmas.
Playing Santa for Chad was always a challenge. Although he never wanted any particular gift, he could produce a 16-page list without much effort. And he smiled mischievously at his achievement. Whatever I ended up making or buying was still a surprise! But more than the gifts were the good times: The piñatas and visits from Santa Claus as children; hidden gifts and other traditions as adults. Santa lived in our hearts from childhood to adulthood.
Those first vacations after his death, my heart ached with every thought of celebration. I tried all the coping tips, but nothing seemed right. I even talked to my family early on about “changing our traditions” – doing things differently. I vividly remember sitting on the golf course in August with my sister, wanting advice on how our family would manage. It’s no wonder that by the time the holidays rolled around my anxiety level had peaked. All he wanted to do was get it over with!
That year I was not a very good Santa Claus. I couldn’t have cared less if I bought. It hurts to see the children. He found no peace in religious celebrations. I cried through every ornament I hung on the tree. I left the Christmas Eve services because my heart ached and my eyes were red from crying. And, as much as I tried to make things normal for everyone else, I couldn’t find any peace for myself. I was a Santa with no reason to give thanks.
I was miserable by choice. I was angry with God for allowing my life to take that turn. I felt sorry for myself and wanted everyone to feel my pain. I couldn’t deny it. It’s easy to give thanks when life is splendid. But giving thanks when life faces dark times is an invaluable message of trust. To my surprise, the anticipation of my reaction to the first vacation without Chad was far greater than the actual excitement I felt. Maybe I cried myself. Perhaps he was insensitive to the festivities that others enjoyed.
Even though the years have passed, for a brief time each year, the lingering pain of Christmases past knocks on my door, reminding me of where I have been and where I am today. Today, with certainty, I can say: “Facing the holidays is easier, but it is very different”. In the darkness of this journey through pain, there are some lights that shine. The gifts I have received are not given by Santa Claus, nor bought in a store. Instead, they are blessings that I sometimes take for granted.
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I am blessed to know that my God is always with me. No matter what I felt or what I said in his presence, he understood. And even today, when my memory fails and I feel sorry for myself, He is there for me. What a friend I have in Jesus!
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I am hurt because I was able to choose my attitude, and my choices gave me new options. I still miss the things I’ll never have, but I no longer consider them.
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I am lucky to have family and friends who value my commitments and support me without a shadow of a doubt. This gives value to what I do.
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I am blessed that God has given me the gift of writing and I have found a way to use this gift to ease the pain.
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I have been blessed with a healthy mind, body, and spirit, even though I sometimes take them for granted.
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I am blessed with the gift of purpose each morning. I like the quote: “God put me on this earth to accomplish a certain number of things. Right now I’m so far behind that I’ll never die.”
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I am blessed that my journey through grievance has given me comfort and peace in the presence of many new friends who share my path.
On that first Christmas after Chad’s death, I bought a figurine of Santa Claus with his knees bent, his head down, and his arms crossed. It keeps reminding me of those early years of Christmas complaining. Perhaps the craftsman’s interpretation was intended to capture the magic of Santa and the miracle of Christmas that brings two stories together to serve a higher purpose. Or maybe it was Santa Claus giving thanks after his arduous task of delivering packages. Or maybe it was just Santa giving thanks that the holidays are finally over this year!
Life is a gift. For my son, Chad, the gift of life was brief. But in the shortness of those 21 years, he lived and touched the lives of many. Above all, he touched mine. His death uncovered my weaknesses, but the spirit of his being has brought the music out of my soul. I remind myself that it’s okay to yearn for the past, but only momentarily. There is much to do in the present.
Our tree sparkles with decorations that tell the stories of many beautiful Christmases past. Ornaments that remind me of relatives who have died. There are silent messages in twinkling angels; stars of hope and bells of joy. The shine that lingers on my rug long after the season reminds me that love shines forever on the soul. Our loved ones are not forgotten. They are remembered in the silent choirs of beautiful memories.
With all this to be thankful for, even this Santa Claus can give thanks!