The Holiday Tradition

The holiday season has, for my family at least, always been a time of tradition. The gathering of family at my parents’ home, the feasting on turkey and dressing, and the opening of presents at Christmas – one on Christmas Eve and the rest on Christmas morning. No matter the status of our relationship with each other, and oh how those relationships have ebbed and flowed over the years, my parents’ home has always been a place of welcome for me. Traditions always comforting. Laughter, warmth, thankfulness, and the story of Christ’s birth ever present. It hasn’t always been easy though. 

In October of 2012, my younger sister was murdered about a mile from my parents’ home. Her daughter, 15 at the time, survived three gunshot wounds during the incident. You cannot imagine how cripplingly painful the holidays were that year. We gathered and feasted and gave thanks for each other – the living – and even shared a few gifts, but the warmth of being with family just wasn’t the same. We saw in each other the pain and heartache of what was so glaringly missing. No one wearing fuzzy slippers and Grinch pajamas. No one sneaking a piece of mom’s cherry cream pie. No one just chilling with dad. But the days went on and life continued.

A year later, in the middle of the holiday season, I am reminded of the importance of documenting life’s moments. It’s easy when the moments are joyous and beautiful. Not so easy when life takes such a sharp unexpected turn. Losing my sister is the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through. Here one day and gone the next. How can life change so fast?

The holidays are one part of that change I suspect will never be quite the same.  Grief and sadness show up when I least expect it. “Let’s watch the Charlie Brown Christmas special!” I said with giddiness. Five minutes in I had to leave the room, overcome with grief. Who knew that would be the catalyst this time? Oh, I know a few obvious things to avoid – all things Grinchy, that show about the mice and the clock caroling to Santa, and of course, fuzzy slippers. But Charlie Brown?  There’s no connection between her and Charlie Brown. Grief is very sneaky these days. It punches me in the gut and makes it hard to breathe, leaving me searching for the comfort of tradition that used to come so easily. 

And so, it is in that search that I am reminded of the one tradition that will always be most comforting – the story of Christ – not just his birth, but his birth in my life. It is his love for me that is the only tradition I need, no matter what else may change. His love is eternal.

Merry Christmas and a happier New Year.

Always,

Dana