For many of us, grief at the holidays is an oxymoron. Holidays are supposed to be happy, fun, joyful, overflowing with bonds of love. Grief casts a painful, somber, dark shadow over the holidays, shrouding the happy memories of past celebrations.

We grieve because we loved. We formed an intense attachment to our child. Attachments, connections, once the glue that held our life together, have now been broken by the death of our child. We yearn to have our child close to us again.

Now that part of who you were together, as a family, is dead. Your own identity is changed.

Death is never in season. The end of a child's life is never "on time." Among the many connections we may make with the timing of a child's death, holidays seem to serve as markers of the event.

When Blake died I automatically connected his death to the nearest holiday, his birthday. The "first" holidays are an offensive reminder of the death. For some, "firsts" simply mean the first time they experience a holiday, anniversary, birthday, or other special occasions rich with memory and tradition without their child.

But for me, as well as some of you I'm sure, I am experiencing the emotions of "firsts" holidays ( and other special days), during the second year of my grief because of my initial shock, numbness, or tendency to deflect my grief during the first year following Blake's accident.

Holidays are, for most, special times of the year. They come with the regularity of the calendar. We look forward to them, wanting to make each one special and significant. They are usually times away from the pressure of daily work, times for family and friends to gather together, times for reflection and celebration. Thanksgiving Day turkey, a Christmas tree, and the Fourth of July, etc., tend to raise us above the humdrum of life in order to renew and revive. But the holidays will be different for us this year. Grief has ripped from us the uncompromised joy and celebration. The firestorm has hit.

FIRESTORM! That is what death is like. And the fuel of that fire are the feelings associated with holidays.

Grief is tough enough, but Christmas comes (or other holidays), grief becomes all the more difficult. After all, this is supposed to be a happy, joyous time. Grief is the antithesis of joy and is associated with emotions of sadness, emptiness, and loneliness. And now add to your list of "special days" the anniversary date of your child's death. It is a FIRESTORM!

Just think about what happens in a forest fire. When the fire finally subsides, the only thing that remains is charred black earth with no apparent life, no apparent beauty, no apparent hope. How could this barren ground ever support life again?

Death, like a forest fire, devastates, destroys. Death seems to leave nothing but ashes in its wake. Landmarks are destroyed. A sense of hopelessness overwhelms. We are not for certain whether we can find our bearings again. How will we ever navigate this darkness?

Death, like a forest fire, leaves ashes…ashes of loneliness in the absence of our child. The challenge of the firestorm, I think, is to accept its presence. The devastation is real. We can't deny it, not for long. Holidays intensify the pain and add another layer to one's grief. The special days fall short of what they imagined to be. Death has removed our child from our life. A very meaningful relationship has vanished like the morning dew. In the middle of the celebration, we are reminded how closely attached we were and are to our child, now gone. The firestorm has blown across the prairie of our life. A holiday celebration makes you face the reality of your child's death all the more directly. It is difficult for us to say the words dead or died. It's as if they refuse to be shaped easily by our tongues.

Yet in the middle of the traditions of food, family, and friends, and all the activities associated with the holidays, we have an empty chair, a place once filled by our child, a reminder of our loss.

I guess, in our journey to the "other side of grief " We have to work toward accepting the reality that the death of our child did occur. Death seems at one and the same time both real and unreal. How often do we say to ourselves, "But this can't be happening to me!" But the death did happen.

The loneliness and deep pain threaten to engulf us at any given time. Our heart and soul feel burned to the core.

Holidays are fast approaching
where tinsel and lights shine bright,
It’s the time for family and friends
to sing out carols like 'Silent Night'.
~~^~~
Perhaps a joyous time for many
celebrating the birthday of our Lord,
Which is the true meaning of Christmas
so why do many go out, and buy presents they can't afford?
~~^~~
Christmas parties at work and home
enjoying the food and being merry,
As decorations are hung
with mistletoe, holly and berry.
~~^~~
For some of us it's a blue time
when tears cascade so often,
No matter how hard we try
nothing seems to soften.
~~^~~
Whether you are alone
or surrounded by loved ones,
Loneliness is apparent
especially missing a child.
~~^~~
No matter what religion you are
and celebrate your way,
Just remember this one thing
for many of us it's just another day.

Remembering each of you in my prayers & in my heart. May God guide you through this holiday season. Love Melissa