When Holidays Hurt
October to January. Four major holidays. From goblins and ghouls to gifts and giving, and all that goes in between. It's stressful and hectic and cram packed, and that's on a good year.
No one should have to buy gifts meant to bring joy so soon after buying an urn for their infant. I started the holiday season with a healthy baby girl kicking in my belly and now she sits on a shelf in our hallway.
I go between "life's not fair so I am bitter" and "life's so short so let's live it up" so quickly these days.
I am sure I would feel like this no matter when during the year my daughter had passed away, but I feel like the holidays only add to it. After all, the zoo is only decorated for Christmas once a year, so we better go see it and live it up.
But as I'm getting dressed I remember things I did only a few short years ago when I was pregnant with Nolan during the holidays, and I should be doing those same things now while still pregnant with Nora. I should be wearing my maternity leggings and big coat, drinking hot chocolate instead of coffee, looking at lights and taking a picture in front of our Christmas tree looking down sweetly at my belly; but instead I'm dressing my postpartum body and getting ready for a memorial service for babies who are gone too soon and drinking as much coffee as possible and I cry every time my hand accidentally brushes my stomach and I'm back so fast to life's not fair and I'm bitter.
This year should be our last holiday season with only one child. We should be soaking it in, teary-eyed because I realize it's his last Christmas as the baby, drinking in the sweet giggles of a toddler who is just beginning to grasp the wonder and magic of Christmas. I am drinking it in, that's for sure, but only because if I don't I'll drown in my own ocean of sadness. So, I drink him in, soak him up, cherish his cuddles, because he is what makes me put one foot in front of the other most days.
And like that I'm back at living it up. I can't let my own pity party ruin this for him. So I stay as busy as possible, planning holiday activities, buying into the elf madness (which I swore I would never do), spoiling him just a bit too much, because in doing so I lose myself for a moment.
The exhaustion isn't from overdoing it. The exhaustion is from the constant roller coaster I am on. The "Melancholy Holiday" is what it's called. You get to experience the highs of Christmas through your child's eyes, where you almost get sick from the exhilarating rush of seeing pure joy, then go back down for the grief of realizing you won't get to see your other child experience Christmas. And just when you think you're at the bottom of the descent, ready for that climb back up, a trap door opens and you fall down even further and realize that this is forever. You aren't just doing *this* Christmas without her. It's going to be EVERY Christmas for the rest of your life.
And, we're back at bitter.
If you're from the South, you know we had a once-in-a-lifetime snow this weekend. It was fluffy, white, and brilliant and fell nearly all day and left us with mounds of beautiful snow in which to play. I don't remember a snow like this ever. It was perfect. I took my camera out and took literally hundreds of pictures. I was looking for a verse to go with a picture I took of Nolan. I wanted something about the snow. In looking, I found this verse: "Come now, and let us reason together," says the Lord, "though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be white as snow..." Isaiah 1:18.
It's a beautiful verse, but what struck me the most was the beginning. Come now, let us reason together. I am hit with a mental image of God Himself wrapping me up, taking me in His arms and telling me, "Come now, child." And He isn't just comforting me, He is reasoning with me. He's not upset with me for being angry and bitter, but reasoning with me and hearing me out.
When Nolan is having an inevitable toddler meltdown, trying to reason with him is always my first step, no matter futile the attempt might be. That is what is happening with me. No matter how bitter and grief-stricken I am, He is still reasoning with me, trying to talk me through it. I can throw my tantrum for as long as I want, He is still there, and He will listen.
I honestly had a different ending to this post when I started it. It was much more on the bitter, hateful, spiteful side. More along the lines of "sorry if your life sucks too, everything is miserable." And while that's not entirely untrue, as I'm sitting here on this roller coaster, going between joy for what I have and agony for what I don't, Jesus is sitting beside me reasoning with me. Listening to my aching heart and hearing my cries. I'm not being told to get over it and move on; I'm able to let out the injustice of it all and be comforted.
I'm being held when the holidays hurt.
No one should have to buy gifts meant to bring joy so soon after buying an urn for their infant. I started the holiday season with a healthy baby girl kicking in my belly and now she sits on a shelf in our hallway.
I go between "life's not fair so I am bitter" and "life's so short so let's live it up" so quickly these days.
I am sure I would feel like this no matter when during the year my daughter had passed away, but I feel like the holidays only add to it. After all, the zoo is only decorated for Christmas once a year, so we better go see it and live it up.
But as I'm getting dressed I remember things I did only a few short years ago when I was pregnant with Nolan during the holidays, and I should be doing those same things now while still pregnant with Nora. I should be wearing my maternity leggings and big coat, drinking hot chocolate instead of coffee, looking at lights and taking a picture in front of our Christmas tree looking down sweetly at my belly; but instead I'm dressing my postpartum body and getting ready for a memorial service for babies who are gone too soon and drinking as much coffee as possible and I cry every time my hand accidentally brushes my stomach and I'm back so fast to life's not fair and I'm bitter.
This year should be our last holiday season with only one child. We should be soaking it in, teary-eyed because I realize it's his last Christmas as the baby, drinking in the sweet giggles of a toddler who is just beginning to grasp the wonder and magic of Christmas. I am drinking it in, that's for sure, but only because if I don't I'll drown in my own ocean of sadness. So, I drink him in, soak him up, cherish his cuddles, because he is what makes me put one foot in front of the other most days.
And like that I'm back at living it up. I can't let my own pity party ruin this for him. So I stay as busy as possible, planning holiday activities, buying into the elf madness (which I swore I would never do), spoiling him just a bit too much, because in doing so I lose myself for a moment.
The exhaustion isn't from overdoing it. The exhaustion is from the constant roller coaster I am on. The "Melancholy Holiday" is what it's called. You get to experience the highs of Christmas through your child's eyes, where you almost get sick from the exhilarating rush of seeing pure joy, then go back down for the grief of realizing you won't get to see your other child experience Christmas. And just when you think you're at the bottom of the descent, ready for that climb back up, a trap door opens and you fall down even further and realize that this is forever. You aren't just doing *this* Christmas without her. It's going to be EVERY Christmas for the rest of your life.
And, we're back at bitter.
If you're from the South, you know we had a once-in-a-lifetime snow this weekend. It was fluffy, white, and brilliant and fell nearly all day and left us with mounds of beautiful snow in which to play. I don't remember a snow like this ever. It was perfect. I took my camera out and took literally hundreds of pictures. I was looking for a verse to go with a picture I took of Nolan. I wanted something about the snow. In looking, I found this verse: "Come now, and let us reason together," says the Lord, "though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be white as snow..." Isaiah 1:18.
When Nolan is having an inevitable toddler meltdown, trying to reason with him is always my first step, no matter futile the attempt might be. That is what is happening with me. No matter how bitter and grief-stricken I am, He is still reasoning with me, trying to talk me through it. I can throw my tantrum for as long as I want, He is still there, and He will listen.
I honestly had a different ending to this post when I started it. It was much more on the bitter, hateful, spiteful side. More along the lines of "sorry if your life sucks too, everything is miserable." And while that's not entirely untrue, as I'm sitting here on this roller coaster, going between joy for what I have and agony for what I don't, Jesus is sitting beside me reasoning with me. Listening to my aching heart and hearing my cries. I'm not being told to get over it and move on; I'm able to let out the injustice of it all and be comforted.
I'm being held when the holidays hurt.
Comments
Post a Comment