The Empty Chair: When the Holidays are Hard
“I just don’t want to do the holidays this year.”
These are the words that I cried to my husband last November. It wasn’t that I was trying to sound selfish or ungrateful. It wasn’t because I couldn’t take a look around and see how incredibly blessed I am. It didn’t make my love for those around me any less. In fact, the loss we experienced only deepened my love and gratitude for them.
It was all just too heavy. Too painful. Too soon. The fact remained that our baby should be here with us- yet he wasn’t. It should have been a season of celebrating all of his “first”- yet it wasn’t. The Most Wonderful Time of the Year- simply wasn’t.
Truth be told, it didn’t feel wonderful at all. It had been a really long year and though my husband and I are deeply committed to one another, our marriage was terribly strained from different processes of grief and no matter how hard we tried to understand each other, our efforts kept getting lost in translation.
While my husband was also forever changed by our loss, he was looking forward to the holidays. Yet for me, it was much more difficult. Of course I was determined to carry on our yearly traditions for the sake of our precious six year old son- and even looked forward to those things- it’s just that now the holidays are so bittersweet. It’s quite unexplainable really, unless you’ve been through it, how you can celebrate so fully with one child, yet long so deeply for your other. It’s like constantly living with a divided heart. One half is here, the other is in Heaven.
And now, during the holidays, I live with a shadow. Thanksgiving day is now shadowed with memories of our pregnancy announcement that never came to pass. And, Christmas? Christmas is now shadowed by the longest week of my life experiencing symptoms and waiting for confirmation on whether or not I was having a miscarriage.
Up until that point I never realized just how hard the holidays can be for some. Until then, I never thought about what it’s like to look around the table and see the missing chair. To others around, the chair is invisible. Yet for those of us who have experienced loss, it’s always there and we can see it clear as day.
While I’m always keenly aware of the missing chair, and even more so during the holidays, this much I know is true: God is still good. Jesus is still good. He is the perpetual light that pierces through the darkness of grief. He is the one who hears our cries and heals our broken hearts. He is the one who, like us, has wept over the loss of loved ones. And He is the only One who has literally carried the weight of death upon His very shoulders.
No, the table may not be fully surrounded with our loved ones on this side of Heaven, but friends- the day is coming. The day when every tear we cry will be wiped away. The day when the curtain is rolled back and we clearly see what God’s plan was all along. The day when our hearts will finally become completely complete.
May I remind you today that upon His return, Jesus has promised a great banquet feast. And rest assured friends that if your loved one was a believer, a day is coming when the chair will no longer be empty. Finally, on that day when we look around the table- every single seat will be filled. And that, my friends, is the thrill of hope that even the weariest of hearts can rejoice in.
Abide in Him Always,
Ashley