When Grief Gets in the Way of Thanksgiving

November is a time for pumpkin pie, turkey, A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving, kiddos dressed up as pilgrims and Indians, and family get-togethers galore. Or, as I call it, stress. Pure whack-my head-against-a wall-throw-myself-on-the floor-and-assume-a-fetal-position stress. Yes—where most people are thrilled beyond words to begin the holiday season, I am going to be flat-out honest: there have been times I could do without Thanksgiving.

Before you think I am a Grinch, let me explain. For someone who has lost a child (or children), holidays are rough. I remember becoming pregnant with our first child. We were so excited at the endless possibilities of holidays with our kids. The beginning of so many firsts! Only that’s not what happened. I carried our daughter for thirty-five weeks, and we were blessed to hold her alive in our arms for a miraculous hour and a half. She was beautiful, perfectly formed, and we weren’t ready to say goodbye. When she died, a part of our hearts died with her.

As the holidays drew near, dread filled my heart. My arms were empty, and so was my soul. I could not fathom sitting around the table laughing and savoring a holiday meal with my daughter’s ashes in the locket that now hung over my heart. It was too new. I felt such tremendous grief that she wasn’t with us. I also struggled with guilt that she was dead and I was alive. There’s just no pretty way to describe it.

How you are you supposed to feel thankful when you are mad at God? The all-powerful, all-knowing God of the universe didn’t spare my firstborn child, let alone my second, third, or even my fourth. When I say I was mad, I mean I was like a toddler throwing a fit on the floor, screaming at the top of my lungs.

For those of you who may be fresh in your grief, or are watching someone who is, I want to offer the wise words of someone who lived so long ago, yet whose words are every bit as relevant today as they have always been. I have hung on to this verse like a lifeline: “For everything, there is an appointed time,” (Eccl. 3:1, NET).

The words “appointed time” just speak to my spirit. I realize you may be thinking, That’s it?

Yep. That’s it. Simple, I know. Living in a society that is quick to judge, deny, and refuse to welcome suffering as a natural part of life, I want to offer biblical truth and hope to the grieving instead. This verse offered me the permission to feel what I felt, and it can do the same for you. Joy, anger, grief, and even death are all parts of life However, so is remembrance. That is what I love about the Bible: it encourages remembrance. To learn from those who went on before us, to see what God has done for them and what He is doing for us. So why wouldn’t we be sad to see a loved one go? [Tweet “God teaches us to honor the life He created, but He also gives us permission to grieve.”]

Before you start thinking I handled the deaths of my children well, let me assure you I didn’t. Honestly, I went completely anti-holiday after I lost my first two babies. We even went shopping in middle of the night to avoid seeing babies in the store. They were a too-difficult reminder of what we couldn’t have. I couldn’t feel joy no matter how hard I tried. While I am sad I missed out on other memories during those holidays, foregoing them was what I needed to do to survive. I had visions of smashing bowls of mashed potatoes and a fully dressed turkey chucked at a wall. Grief is ugly.

But what I found myself doing as time passed was consciously focusing on what I did have. I am not just talking about family or material things, but for the time my children were alive on earth, when I held them both in my heart and in my arms. I found myself reading every book on heaven and feeling encouraged that I would be reunited with them again. I began to think, Why shouldn’t I talk about them? Just because my grandparents had passed away didn’t mean I stopped talking about them. Why should my children be any different?

I know. Many people don’t like to talk about the dead. They may be afraid to make you cry. They may not want to think about their own losses. What I don’t think most people realize is how alienating grief can be. Some of my best relationships are with those family members and friends who climbed down into our deep, dark hole of grief, to sit and listen while we cried.

I would love to give you an easy answer to send you on your way, but all I can promise is that the greatest help of all is time. Just like the author of Ecclesiastes says, there is a time for everything. God has been so kind in His mercy, and has allowed us something we don’t think we want—the healing that comes with time. As much as we may resist it, it is the very thing we need. I am not saying you will care less as time passes; I am saying your grief will look different. I miss my kids every day. I see children their ages, and I feel the familiar ache in my soul. I long for them, always.

So to you, my dear sister. Know I am sitting across the table with tears in my eyes, reaching my hand across to yours, and I feel your pain, whatever your loss may be. Know that you are not alone. For now, we can hang onto what Solomon said: “There is a time to weep, there is a time to laugh, there is a time to mourn, and a time to dance” (Eccl. 3:4, NET).

Let us weep when the sorrow overwhelms us. Let us laugh for the joy they brought into our lives. Let us mourn for what we long to have. Let us dance for the time that we did have, and will eventually have forever.

Kelly Nickerson is a homeschooling mama with two beautiful kids under her wing and four dancing in heaven. She also lives with her amazing husband, who supports her like no other. Kelly is a firecracker prayer warrior who shares honestly about her brokenness, while praising and clinging to the G-d who sustains her. When she isn’t hunting down germs with disinfectant, you can find her writing of her adventures at kellynickerson.com.

 

Photograph by, Andrew Martin.