Our First Christmas in Grief: 2020

I have loved Christmas all my life. It's Jesus’ birthday, and my mother made sure to make it special every year. Then, when we had our own little family, we carried on those same traditions. You so loved that you could give our children what you always wanted.

Yet, this Christmas was so difficult. You weren't there — not just to help me, but to be there. What I have learned through this separation between Heaven and Earth is that life is not about the big moments; it's about the day-to-day — the comfort of having someone in your corner with you through all the "What are we going to have for dinner?" and the mundane of life. That's what I miss most. It's not the actual December 25, but the days leading up to it. The preparation, the fun you had picking out the gifts. You had such fun picking them out that you had such a hard time keeping secrets. It was so special and sweet how childlike your generosity was. That's what I miss. The you that made everything fun.

Your monument came in right before Christmas, so we moved your Christmas tree over and put your temporary marker where the military footstone will be. I have decorated your place for each season and visit to eat and talk with you frequently.

I couldn't write just my name on the gifts this year. It was Bob and Susan, Mom and Dad, Papa and Gogo for 38 years. It was just too difficult! All the gifts came from us. And, technically, they are. You worked so hard to prepare for us in retirement that you will support me for the rest of my life. (And, to be honest, I still haven't been able to just write "Susan". All gifts—birthday, Christmas, and otherwise—since you moved to Heaven came from both of us, and the gifts for Christmas 2023 will probably as well.) I will always be your wife. The vows say, "Til death do us part." It means both deaths. We are separated, but not parted!!

On one of the days that I was having difficulty with this whole concept, I analyzed the words. Separate means to cause to be apart or divide into distinct elements as a verb; individual items as a noun; and forming or viewed as a unit apart or by itself as an adjective. Part means to move away from each other as a verb and a piece or segment of something as a noun. I know you'll say it's semantics and reading too much into it, but it's important to me now. I may be divided from you in physical form now, but I'll never move away from your love or be anything less than a part of us.

Yet, even though it was difficult, life did go on. I made the traditional Jesus' birthday cake for our Christmas Eve on December 22. I thought it funny when I looked at the pictures that the cake seems to resemble all of our feelings. It's crooked and the icing is slipping, but it's still a cake. It was delicious on the inside, and Christmas still went on.

A New Reality: Celebrating with Tradition and Love



Yet, even though it was difficult, life did go on. I made the traditional Jesus' birthday cake for our Christmas Eve on December 22. I thought it funny when I looked at the pictures that the cake seems to resemble all of our feelings. It's crooked and the icing is slipping, but it's still a cake. It was delicious on the inside, and Christmas still went on.

We opened Christmas Eve pajamas, then all the children slept here as they always did so we could have Christmas morning together. And that's what we did. Lauren had a special bracelet made with a phrase you wrote in the Papa book in your handwriting. On the "How did meet our grandmother page, you wrote, "I love her so much." It was so special. I wear it most days. And, she remembered to buy me the perfume you always bought - Jean Paul Goutier. And, David kept the tradition of the dates with Mom. It will always not just seem but be surreal that life goes on - even through such a profound change.

Honoring Your Legacy

Your absence was felt deeply, but your presence was also felt in the traditions we upheld and the memories we shared. You always had a way of making Christmas magical, and this year, we tried to keep that magic alive in our own way. The Christmas tree, adorned with the decorations you loved, stood as a reminder of your joy and spirit. The gifts, labeled from both of us, symbolized the lasting impact of your love and generosity.

As we gathered around the tree, we reminisced about past Christmases—the laughter, the surprises, the moments of pure joy. We shared stories of your enthusiasm for picking out the perfect gifts and your excitement on Christmas morning. Your childlike wonder and infectious joy were the heart of our celebrations, and we held onto those memories tightly.

Finding Comfort in Family and Faith

Our family found comfort in being together. Despite the void your absence created, we supported each other, drawing strength from our shared love for you. The bracelet from Lauren and the perfume from David were thoughtful gestures that brought a sense of closeness to you. They reminded me that your love continues to be a part of our lives, even as we navigate this new reality.

Faith played a significant role in our coping. The Jesus' birthday cake, though imperfect, was a symbol of our enduring faith and the reason we celebrate Christmas. It reminded us that even in our brokenness, there is hope and joy to be found. The traditions we maintained were a testament to the strength of our family and our commitment to honoring you.

Moving Forward with Love

This Christmas was a poignant reminder of the love we shared. While it was difficult, it was also a time of reflection. We learned that it's okay to feel the pain of your absence and to find new ways to celebrate your memory.

As we move forward, we will continue to honor you. Your love and legacy will guide us, giving us strength and hope.



I'll love you forever!