Christmas - pain, joy, and hope

It is Christmas Eve today and I am struggling.  It has been exactly a year and a half, 18 full months to the day, since Ryan died.  As I wrap the gifts tonight from “Santa” for my children, I can not help but think of all the Christmas eves Ryan and I spent together after the kids were in bed, eating the cookies left out for Santa, filling the stockings, or wrapping last minute gifts.  I even think about that one year we both had the stomach flu and stayed up late building a play kitchen set for little Kate to have the next morning.  She was only a year and a half old and we seriously debated just telling her Christmas was the following week because we were so very sick!  But instead we pulled out the directions and took turns building pieces of that little pink play kitchen in between blowing noses and trips to the bathroom to throw up.  It was miserable and it became a joke for years afterward about how sick we were.  But somehow it was still a joyful memory because we were together and laughing about it.

This year I struggle because I miss Ryan and I am just plain mad he is not here with me.  I am upset I have to fill the stockings by myself and eat those stupid Santa cookies alone.  I am sad that the one person who could know or understand all those years of Christmas Eve memories is gone.  And as I do these things I realize this is the first Christmas I have spent alone.  Ever.  I mean the kids are here with me, but after they go to bed, I am alone.  Ryan was either with me every Christmas, or the couple years he deployed over the holiday, I stayed at my parents house or was able to visit Ryan at his location.  Ryan deployed quite a few times in our 15 years of marriage, but it was a huge blessing that it was almost never over Christmas - and almost always over Valentines!  (Another joke we had was to ask every Valentine’s Day where he would be because it was almost certainly never home.  Luckily it was not a holiday that “mattered” to us.). And last Christmas I stayed at my sister’s house because I was too fearful of being alone.  This year, however, I am in my own home though.  I saw friends at church earlier today and I will have family at my door for Christmas Day, but this evening, Christmas Eve, is my first by myself.  But I also have to say, I think this is good for me.  I think knowing I can “do Christmas” (or anything else) on my own is good for me.  It is good for my self confidence and it also builds compassion in my heart for those who struggle, are lonely, and grieve.  Sitting alone, letting the many tears flow freely, remembering and feeling, it is all good for me to go through.  We all need time to let the emotions flow freely, acknowledge the hurt, and let these painful things transform us, keeping our hearts tender and open to love, instead of hardening up in anger, fear, or self protection.  A feeling heart is a loving heart.  It is how God sees and cares for us and it is the only way to love.

UPDATE 1/15/18:  I took this post down after David and I broke up.  It just hurt too much to read these words I wrote below.  But I decided to put them back up because they were truly my thoughts and feelings at the time that I wrote them.  I had no idea that just a few weeks after writing them I would have a broken heart.  And that broken heart would trigger the grief my soul and emotions remember.  If you read my January 2018 post “in the valley” you can see how this post connects to that one.

Always one day at a time, one breathe at a time. 

The other thing is I have this Christmas too is a wonderful person I adore, who is joyful and wise and so caring.  His greatest gift to me has been allowing me to still love Ryan.  He has so patiently listened when I have needed to still tearfully grieve these past months.  He has put up with my pain, my emotions, and my fear (and even me stepping away from our relationship and before coming back to it last September).  He has been beyond compassionate to me, willing to be present with my children, and amazingly loving even when my actions have so often been less than lovable. 

So this year, as I sit in this quiet home, alone, I am not without love and hope.  I know God has faithfully walked with me through every step of the last 18 months, both the pain and the joy.  I am not ever truly alone.  I have my extended family nearby and am beyond thankful for all my sister has put aside to be there for me.  I have my precious Ryan in heaven, who I know loves me and I believe is watching over me.  I am blessed with hopeful plans and a new excitement for my much prayed-over future.  I have two amazing children, who also know that life is a balance of feeling the horrific pains of tragedy alongside the depths of true joy.  And I have a Savior who was born in a quiet little manger, very much alone with his tiny earthly family.  A Savior who knows loneliness, who knows grief, who knows joy, and who is the hope we can count on in and through everything, tonight, this Christmas Eve, and every day.  This Christmas my prayer is that we each know and feel the truth that we are God’s ceaseless spiritual beings, created for an eternal destiny, beloved by our Savior, and cared for by His limitless love.

That little kitchen set we built for Kate, 2004