And so it is Christmas Eve. Our seventh one separated from the extraordinary joy of our precious boy’s existence. Christmas continues to be a bleak season for me, despite the passage of so many years. Other significant calendar events last for just a day: Easter, Mother’s Day, Thanksgiving, Tyler’s birthday.
As I approach eight years without my son, I find I can manage days that are meant to be joyous. And when I do struggle, I just focus on getting myself to the other side of that particular day. When the day ends, I breathe a sigh of relief, whisper, “I did it,” and press on.
But Christmas? It’s different. Christmas is not just a day; it’s a season.
Christmas is anticipated months in advance. The joyful memes on social media that start in the summer and count down the months, the weeks, the days until December 25th cause a visceral response in me. I cringe, both inwardly and outwardly. My heart sinks. The trepidation creeps in.
I don’t want it to come. I don’t want to do another Christmas holiday, the time when memories uniquely bring more pain than smiles.
Each year since losing Tyler, I simply dread how Thanksgiving’s conclusion heralds in the pervasive onslaught of Christmas music.
The radio, my constant companion while driving, is now off limits, its silence just another reminder of loss. I avoid stores to escape the music of the season, shopping safely instead from behind my keyboard.
And sometimes, during Advent, I avoid church. The familiar music…the familiar message…just being there without my boy, it magnifies my loss.
So what does all this say about diminished joy at Christmastime? Nothing. It says nothing at all about diminished joy.
You see, I can dread the arrival of the season. I can quickly scroll past those holiday memes and pretend Christmas is not just around the corner. I can avoid the music, the decorating, the cooking, the gatherings, the celebration of Advent.
But the joy of Christmas? Even in grief that is felt more starkly because of the holiday itself, the joy shines through.
The joy shines through, not because the festive Christmas lights are truly magical.
The joy shines through, not because I hum a Christmas carol despite myself.
The joy shines through, not because I get excited about a gift I plan to bestow on a loved one.
The joy shines through, not even because it is frankly delightful to see Christmas through the eyes of my grandchildren.
No, the joy shines through, because my loss…my sorrow…my being forced to endure this tradition-laden holiday without Tyler… it doesn’t change what Christmas truly is.
Christmas is about birth. Christmas is about salvation.
Six Decembers ago I wrote some reflections on Christmas. These reflections, written while my grief was still so fresh, remain the best way I know to describe why Christmas joy shines through despite deep sorrow:
I woke up early Christmas morning in a hotel bed (a last minute tactic to avoid waking up in our Tyler-less, undecorated home) and lay in bed, thinking. I thought about God’s astounding plan to offer salvation to our lost and hurting world. The Son left the glory of Heaven to emerge on earth into absolute squalor as the helpless baby of first-time teenage parents. He left the glory of Heaven, where he reigned as God and Creator of the universe, to live within the limitations of a tiny human body. He chose to begin as a newborn and experience teething, hunger, filth, childhood illness, half-siblings, poverty, adolescence.
As he grew, he experienced the same temptation to sin that we experience. He felt it just as strongly because he was fully human, yet avoided giving in to it because he was fully God. And as a young adult, he chose to abandon the relative comfort of his family’s village, his family home and his family business to begin his path to rejection, persecution, torture and death by starting to reveal his purpose and his true identity.
Over the next few years, he withstood both followers and enemies alike who misconstrued his teaching. But his death, when God in human form was unthinkably nailed to a tree, resulted in salvation as he conquered the grave and returned to his glorious Heaven. Finally, the chasm between a perfect, holy God and sinful humankind was bridged once and for all. The need for animal sacrifices, grain sacrifices, sacrificial following of religious Law – all were eliminated by the perfect Sacrifice that began with the arrival of a baby whose cries echoed in a cave intended for livestock.
“For God so loved the world that he gave…” All we have to do is receive, and we will no longer live our lives separated from God. Neither our lives here on this earth nor our eternity.
Every time I wonder at this Gift of salvation which permeates the reason behind Christmas, I now think about my own “one and only son.” Tyler learned about this Gift as he grew. He learned about it at church, at school, and at home. As a boy of about 8 or 9, he finally understood that like any other gift, simply seeing it and believing it exists isn’t enough. It’s not yours to enjoy until you receive it for yourself.
Tyler chose to unwrap his Gift of salvation. The rest of what would be his short life on earth was lived not separated from God, but in relationship with God. And post-death, Tyler’s eternity is lived not separated from God, but with God face-to-face.
For me, I expect that Christmas will always hold pain because I am a mother who has lost her child. It will be painful whether I embrace old traditions, create new ones, or avoid them all. But in the midst of my pain, I will rejoice. Because the Christmas Gift my son received as his own is an eternal one.
“For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him.” John 3:16-17
So on this Christmas Eve, the seventh one separated from the extraordinary joy of our precious boy’s existence, I reflect again on that first Christmas. And I emerge from the bleakness of the Christmas season. Bleakness that is penetrated by joy, shining through.
“That night there were shepherds staying in the fields nearby, guarding their flocks of sheep. Suddenly, an angel of the Lord appeared among them, and the radiance of the Lord’s glory surrounded them. They were terrified, but the angel reassured them. “Don’t be afraid!” he said. “I bring you good news that will bring great joy to all people. The Savior—yes, the Messiah, the Lord—has been born today in Bethlehem, the city of David!” Luke 2:8-11