At our home, the better part of yesterday was spent decorating for Christmas. We put up the tree, hung the stockings above the fireplace and brought out our Christmas village. The girls put a second tree in the basement and added a few extra decorations that we normally do not have. It goes without saying that I fond myself pondering a year ago, our first Christmas without Laynee. The first Christmas during which our family felt incomplete.
Once again, I am amazed at how much I do not remember. I know that there were no trees or stockings or any other holiday trimmings with the exception of a candle in each of our front windows. In many ways the lack of memory seems merciful. Yet, at the same time, it leaves me wondering how we survived and how we will make it through this and all of the holidays to come.
As we decorated the tree, my mind imagined the excitement and wide eyed wonder of my would be almost 4 year old. My mind's eye could see a tree with way too many ornaments on it's lower branches where she could reach. Our collection of ornaments contains many which are adoned with tumbprints, handprints, or tiny photographs. There are ornaments constructed of felt, pipe cleaner, tiny beads, popsicle sticks and misplaced wiggly eyes or fuzzy ball noses. Those are the ones which were made by our children and proudly displayed for all to see. My heart clenched at the knowledge that Laynee never had an oppurtunity to bring one of her beautiful hand made ornaments to me, hence, our tree will never have a piece of her personality on it. Instead, I unwrapped ornaments given to us last year which tell the story of a child taken far too soon. They are beautiful but not the kind that anyone ever wants to have hanging from their tree. Each time I pass, I am reminded that my child is in the arms of Jesus where she will spend her second Christmas in heaven. I know that I should be comforted by this knowledge, but the truth is that I don't want her to be in heaven, I want her here with me.
As I have done so many times, I must find a balance. The pain of grief refuses to dissipate. It has been absorbed into my existence. There is a narrow place that allows me to enjoy the celebration with my living children while my heart aches for my child who is in heaven. Rejoicing and mouning can walk together.
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This post just breaks my heart...I can only hope that each year gets easier, but I can't guarantee anything. Wishing Laynee was here with you in a physical presence, but knowing she is with you in spirit everyday. ((hugs and peace to you))
ReplyDeleteThis is a book I'm going to share a couple of places, so you may see it in other comments.
ReplyDeleteIf you have not read this, you may want to find it:
Comfort: A Journey Through Grief
by Ann Hood
She very suddenly had her five-year-old daughter die, and the book is about how very much comfort was *lacking* in her life from then on. It is not a book with cheap answers about grief or cheap advice on how to get through it; she is honest about what it is truly like.
Thinking of you and of Laynee,
Cathy in Missouri
I wish I could offer more, but today I really felt God ask me to comment on your blog and let you know that another person is praying for you and your family. You're family is beautiful. I pray that the Lord sends comfort to you and your family, that you feel His presence each and every day, and that He find a way to hold you up as you walk with the weight we call grief.
ReplyDeleteYes. Exactly. I wish she were here with you as I wish my Abigail were here with me.
ReplyDelete