Merry Grinchmas

I remember the first Christmas after my brother died. It was 2007, my first year of college.

Christmas had always been just Christmas. It was red and green, holly jolly, cookies and presents, Jesus is born. You know, all of the fun Christmassy things.

And then that year, suddenly I noticed all of the happy, joyful, holly jolly people around me…

And I was angry.

Angry that they were happy.

Angry that they were joyful when my mom and dad and little brother and I were in sooo much pain.

Angry that they could celebrate at a time like this… I was in this haze, still trying to figure out how to exist in a world where my brother didn’t.

Christmas was no longer just Christmas anymore. It was marred by pain and sorrow and loss.

In the midst of other people’s joy and wonder, I became aware of my own sorrow and brokenness.

I remember the Christmas after my brother died. Coincidentally, it also happened to be the same year I got Facebook.

In my anger, I posted a note (remember notes? It was like blogging, but on Facebook) entitled “Merry F*cking Christmas” which talked about missing my brother during the holidays.

A girl from my Baptist university commented and simply said, “That’s not a very Christian thing to say,” referring to the title.

No kindness. No understanding. No compassion. Only shame. That’s it.

My anger took root, and I connected my pain and sorrow with this time of year. I became the Grinch. I hated Christmas. I hated everything about it.

You can ask my family. They called me the Grinch. Nobody knew why I was like that. Which is fine…I didn’t even know why I was like that until recent reflection revealed it.

I’m not writing this for sympathy. I’m writing this because 15 years ago, I wish I had known there’s room for both.

You can be angry AND find the peace of a silent night. You can miss someone fiercely AND sit around a lit-up Christmas tree with the ones they left behind, calling to mind the memories great and small. You can feel that familiar ache 15 years later AND have a Merry Christmas.

Christmas is Christmas again. I’ve found what the Hallmark movies would call “my Christmas spirit” again. I picked up my brother’s guitar and played some Christmas songs the other day. I watch Christmas movies…by choice. I am excited for Christmas. I’m not a Grinch.

Christmas is still red and green, holly jolly, cookies and presents, Jesus is born…only softer.

I’m still sad. I still feel it. I still have work to do. A part of me is still missing. A part of me will always be missing. When I slow down enough, especially around the holidays, I think I will always feel that empty part of my heart.

And I think that’s ok.