It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

 Tim, Jack Margaret 2006

Tim, Andrew, Anna, Margaret 2017

Andrew is VERY excited about Christmas. He has been a little more "hands-on" with our two trees than I'd prefer, but so far breakage has been minimal. Without a peep from me about Santa, he is very much on board with the jolly guy delivering him a fire engine down the chimney in a few weeks. I'm guessing he got this intel from Mickey Mouse and Llama Llama on TV.

We've also been reading books and talking about Baby Jesus. Last week Andrew messed with a present I bought for a local charity. When I asked him about it, he said, "I think Baby Jesus came into our house and broke it." Wonder if he thinks Jesus used the chimney? It was pretty funny.

Guess who else is looking forward to Christmas?

ME.

I wanted to let you know that, because some of you are in the early days and months of grief, and the holidays are something to be endured, ignored, slogged through, and merely survived, not enjoyed or anticipated. It is hardly conceivable to you that someone who has endured great loss as you have would be able to look forward to ANYTHING again, let alone precious family traditions. I see you. I hear you. I understand that at a deep level. All you can do at this point is hold on and be gentle to yourself. If I can provide any measure of hope to you, I want to do that. And if hope seems like far too much, I want to bear witness to your pain.

Many others of you were with me those first few years when I showed up for holidays in order to be there for Margaret and to continue family traditions. It was brutally painful. You prayed us through those days. Thank you.

Last week, as Margaret and I hung ornaments, she said, "I love Christmas! The decorations, the music, everything." I was shocked and happy to hear this. First, because teenage girls tend not to express a love or appreciation of much, but also because I'd wondered whether Christmas was ruined for her 7 years ago when her childhood became a clear Before/After.

My own optimism is enriched by the opportunity to experience the joy and magic of Christmas with a small child again, but it is not BECAUSE OF THIS. Some factors have been the passage of time, giving myself permission to mourn, and an eventual re-framing of my thoughts about death. I see death as a transition now, versus an ending. Just as Margaret's Christmases faced a transition, a very painful one, when Jack died, they did not end there. In death, Jack transitioned to heaven, but nothing about him, except his physical presence has ended.

In the early years, naturally so, I grieved his physical presence mightily. Having a toddler to kiss and snuggle again reminds me even more of what it is like for a mother to be so physically enmeshed with a beloved child as to know every part of him/her. No part of Andrew is foreign to me.

My own thinking has landed at there being a time for everything, and that although I do not understand why Jack's time here on earth, or my mother's, was so short-- and why mine is longer, I am learning to accept that. The brittle bag of bones I felt like just a few years ago has been replenished with life and hope, despite new wrinkles and the scars I carry. This is not something that can be forced or rushed, and you will NEVER find me pushing it on anyone else. Forced peace, inflicted gratitude, and faked acceptance is not helpful or healing.

Instead, I will just say I'm really looking forward to the holidays this year. And if you are not, I see you, I care, and you don't need to be a smidge different to be here with me.



**p.s. A Hug from Heaven is Amazon's #1 New Release in Children's Death and Dying books! Email me at ahugfromheavenbook@gmail.com if you would like me to send you a signed copy with FREE shipping and a photo sleeve for your loved one's picture.

**p.p.s. Right now I am having an online Stella and Dot party to raise money to support families whose kids are in cancer treatment. Please treat yourself to something awesome and help Stillbrave Childhood Cancer Foundation at the same time!

When is the Best Time to Give the Gift of a Grief Book?

A dear friend contacted me this morning for some book recommendations for a mom who recently lost her son in a car accident. She was interested in what books were most helpful to me in the throes of early grief.

I gave her some suggestions that I have shared before, like the incomparable A Grace Disguised by Jerry Sittser, Lament for a Son, and To Heaven and Back.





I have heard from many, many people who have benefited from my books, Rare Bird and A Hug from Heaven, and for that I am grateful.

People often ask me what the best time to give a book is.

I think it's not necessary to worry about the BEST time to give a friend a book about grief. If you feel moved to share a book, go ahead and do it. That said, I would encourage us all to do it without any expectations. For instance, it was really important that people were here to love and support me but never to try to "fix me." I did not want people to follow-up and ASK if I'd read the books they gave me. Too much pressure!

I was grateful that books were there when and if I was ready to dip into them. No friend ever said, "This is THE book you need to read," and I appreciated that. A helpful approach might be, "I thought of you when I read this book," or "I'd like to give you this book in case you ever want to read it." There are so many fabulous books out there, and people will have very personal responses to them. My husband and I have turned to very different books in our grief; while I want to read memoirs and all I can about heaven, he is more interested in Bible studies and fiction.

Speaking of books, I read one in its entirety last night and it spoke to my heart simply, deeply, and eloquently. It is by Tom Zuba, an author/speaker/life coach I was privileged to meet at a local bookstore this week. His book is spare and appears simple, with the look of poetry on the page. Tom lost his 18 month old daughter. Years later, his 43 year old wife died. Finally, his 13 year old son died from brain cancer. I definitely wanted to hear what Tom had to say about grief!

This book is the one he wished he had read when he experienced his first loss, but instead he had to live it first, and then write it. I don't know if I would have been ready to read this immediately after Jack's death, because it really does offer a perspective quite different than the one I was living at the time. Had someone given it to me then, I might have left it on my bedside table for many months before I'd be able to consider reading the simple words of a man who had suffered such great loss yet was thriving and joyful!

But had a friend had given it to me, I most certainly would have benefited from it at some point, as I did last night, staying up late, soaking in every word, nodding along. Tom writes about how we need to give ourselves permission to mourn and really feel our feelings. He writes how we can indeed, find joy again, and he stresses that our relationships with those who have died are still very real indeed.



For other grief book recommendations, here's an article I wrote for The Daily Beast and an excellent list from What's Your Grief.

Books can be a balm to a grieving heart. When you share one, you often share hope and possibility to someone in the pit. And as I tell those who read Rare Bird: hold onto it loosely and pay attention-- because before you know it, there will be the opportunity to share it with someone else!

This post contains affiliate links.