Christmas as a Grieving Parent

As a grieving parent, you feel that void all the time. However, when it comes to holidays, you feel it even stronger.

Tomorrow is Christmas, meaning we've gotten to shop, asking ourselves "what would this child like, what's on their list?". We've gotten to accumulate multiple gifts for each child. We get to spend hours wrapping gifts. We get to load the underside of the tree with gifts.  We get to see our children's faces as they see the tree on Christmas morning. We get to watch our children furiously open the gifts we spent all that time wrapping. We get to see their faces as they see everything they have received. We get to do family get togethers and watch our children receive gifts from grandparents, aunts, and uncles. We get to purchase one small item that we can either put on a shelf, in a cabinet, or on a grave.

Sadly, all of the festivities are a reminder of the life lost. This child will not get to celebrate christmas or the many things it entails. This means there is no pile of gifts for that child from us or family. Our child won't be remembered by many family members (though sometimes they are forgotten by some families altogether). This means standing at a grave weeping. No excitement from that child. No anything. As people begin to put out Christmas lights, I begin to think of the fact that she will never know the excitement of seeing a home all decked out in lights.

Every year, I can find comfort in the fact that my mother, stepfather, and sisters will remember my daughter. My parents, knowing how I felt about Mary's footprints, ALWAYS purchase several kits that we can donate to the hospital. Actually, all of them remember my daughter all the time, not just at Christmas, but my own mother has also lost a child and really gets it. I wish we didn't have this bond, but we do, and it's led to a deep understanding of one another. Her reaction after my sisters death finally made sense to me after I went through it too. Every Christmas, since my sister passed away, she has purchased a teddy bear for her, so, again, she gets it. Luckily, not many mothers and daughters can say they share this bond, so not many families really get it.

Every year, we get to purchase one small item knowing our daughter really won't receive it. We know she won't be opening it. We know that it will be placed in her curio or on her grave. We can't not buy something for her, even if she's not here, knowing it will break our hearts. Tomorrow, we will let one of our kids open a small pink stuffed bear, get dressed warmly and drive to the cemetery, place this bear on the base of her headstone, and take our children home to revel in the gifts they have received. Tomorrow, this will hit us harder than usual and we will feel that void. We will shed tears at her grave as we admire the addition of this little bear to her already loaded resting spot, hoping, somehow, that she can see how much she is loved and missed by us.

This year, if you know a grieving parent or anyone grieving, reach out. Let them know you remember. Let them know they aren't alone. Give them a shoulder, even if they say they don't need it, because we really do. This is especially true if the lost child was the only child the parents had.