You know how they say the first Christmas after the death of a loved one is the hardest? Well, apparently we reach an age where that covers a lot of Christmases.
Christmas 2021 was the first without my mother. The next year, 2022, was supposed to be the nice refreshing “got through that” holiday. But my Dad fell on Christmas Day, beginning the decline that ended in his death four weeks later. So, now we’re at the first Christmas after his death. And then, just to make it a two-fer, my uncle passed away this past weekend.
Merry Christmas.
Perhaps you, or someone you know, is having a similar string of holiday luck. We tend to want to “get through it,” so we can look forward to the next year, when Christmas can go back to being happy and carefree and magical.
Maybe that’s not the lesson here.
Of course, we want children’s Christmas experiences to be all of that and more. We want them to look forward to it all year. And then we want it to be perfect for them, so that they associate the birth of Our Lord with the best memories we can offer.
Then we grow up. But we still put all of this pressure on the month of December to offer us endless parties and cheer and happiness. And when it doesn’t work out that way, we think something is wrong.
St. Paul told us that all things work for good for those who love God. And I think the good here is the invitation God gives us to dive deep — really deep — into what he wants to give us at Christmas. (Hint: it’s not eggnog.)
I learned the other day that Advent is supposed to be a time of preparation. Not just of preparation for the holiday — shopping, baking, trimming the tree. It is in fact a time to prepare for the birth of Our Lord. We all know that, right? We often don’t do much about it, but we know it.
But did you know this? Advent isn’t just a time of preparation to honor his first coming. It is a time designated to prepare for his second coming. This I didn’t know until recently. And it made me think.
How is his second coming going to happen? Well, someday it’s going to happen in glory, at the end of the world. But for most of us, it’s going to come individually, when our earthly lives end and we meet our Maker.
In other words, Advent is the time to prepare for our own deaths.
I don’t know about you, but I still need a lot of preparation for that. I need to clear out the clutter in my heart so that I can receive what God has to give me — all of his gifts that will, if I receive them and let them take root in my heart, lead me to eternal life.
All of this helps to meditate on why he came in the first place. He came to save us from death — to restore the relationship between God and man so that death is not the end, and eternal life in heaven is open to us once more.
And if the death of a loved one does anything for us, it forces us to meditate more deeply on what awaits us on the other side.
Just three days ago, I watched my uncle breathe his last. It’s not a pleasant experience. Death is ugly. But it is also sacred. I sat in awe in that room, knowing that angels were present, and that all of heaven was preparing to bring this faithful soul into the presence of his creator and savior.
Can you imagine facing death without that? If Christ hadn’t redeemed us, if eternal life was still off limits to us? If death was the end? If we had no hope of ever seeing our loved one again?
Now that would make for a rotten “holiday” season.
The coming of the Christ Child really did change everything.
I want to be clear that none of this is to negate or downplay the reality that the holidays can be extremely difficult for those who have experienced loss or trauma. Nor do I want to discourage anybody suffering through such difficulties from getting the help they need. But perhaps some of that help could consist in meditating on these realities.
This life can be amazingly beautiful, and it can be amazingly difficult. And sometimes the difficult leads us more deeply into the beautiful. And sometimes, when the difficult coincides with our celebration of Christ’s birth, it invites us to do just that. To thank him for the gift of life, and the gift of our loved ones.
And to thank him, most of all, for becoming one of us, in order that we can become like him. And that we have the opportunity to spend eternal life with him.
Bonacci is a syndicated columnist based in Denver.
