by Jeanni Ritchie
Christmas 1993 was the hardest holiday season of my life. We’ve had lean Christmases and family feud Christmases but those were a cake walk compared to a Christmas marred in grief.
My month-old daughter was dying in the PICU of Oschner’s in New Orleans and I had two toddlers and a preschooler at home waiting for Santa.
“How am I supposed to go home and do Christmas?” I sobbed to my mother who was staying at the hospital with me while my dad and husband took care of the three kids at home. I wasn’t torn, I was ripped in two with mom guilt. How could I go do presents and Christmas joy while my newborn was fighting for her life? How could I not go and deprive my other children of a Christmas they deserved? They were too young to understand why Mom was even gone, much less why there’d be no Christmas.
I hated Christmas that year and its imposition on my life. I hated the fake joy I was supposed to have. I hated the real joy people had whose kids weren’t dying.
I hated the decorations in the hospital. They were a juxtaposition to the spirit of the parents laboring by their critically ill children’s bedsides.
I hated it all.
My grandparents drove down from Baton Rouge and gently persuaded me to go home for a couple of days to be with my other children for Christmas. We won’t leave her side, they assured me, and we will call if there’s even the slightest change. I hesitantly agreed.
I don’t remember much about that Christmas. I don’t remember the gifts or the food or even whether we spent it at home or at my parents’ house. I do remember my kids being happy I was home, the feeling of not disappointing them (believe it or not, that feeling is tangible), and multiple calls to the hospital.
She died a few days after I returned to New Orleans and the grief was overwhelming. I felt guilty the first time I laughed. My mind was constantly filled with torment. What could I have done differently? Why didn’t I insist on that second procedure sooner? Should I have fought harder? Prayed more? Was her death my fault?
While that Christmas was hard, it was Thanksgiving I struggled with for many years. She was born on Thanksgiving Day. My biggest concern, as I laid in the Labor & Delivery room between contractions, was that my turkey got in the oven on time and someone finished the stuffing. I never considered that less than 24 hours later I’d be facing a mother’s worst nightmare.
It is normal to struggle more with grief during the holidays. Memories arise, expectations abound, and it can become emotionally overwhelming. Guilt, anger, and depression are common. The most important tool to remember is to give yourself grace. Your feelings are valid; your emotions are normal.
Sharing those feelings with others is helpful. Find a grief support group near you. There are many in-person and online options. Many groups also host special activities. Healing Hearts, the support group for perinatal loss that was instrumental to me after my daughter’s death, had an annual Christmas tree ornament ceremony. We would decorate an ornament in memory of our babies and place them on a tree in Rapides Women’s and Children’s Hospital.
While Healing Hearts no longer meets, there are many other support groups.
While We Are Waiting is a support group for parents who’ve experienced the loss of a child of any age. They meet at 6 PM on the 4th Friday of every month at the Book Nook, 6025 Monroe Hwy, Ball. December’s meeting will be held on December 27th. For more information and other memorial holiday events, contact Susan Cartwright at 318-206-8102.
Griefshare at Calvary Baptist Church is an ongoing class but they offer a special Surviving the Holidays seminar in December. Meeting on December 4 and 11 at 6 PM in Room A326, this program is designed to help you navigate grief through the holiday season. Calvary is located at 5011 Jackson Street, Alexandria.
Navigating grief during the holidays is one of the hardest things one must ever do. It is important to find support in others who are going through the same thing. Other ways to navigate grief include setting boundaries, creating new traditions, volunteering, seeking help, setting realistic expectations for yourself, planning ahead, and feeling joy without guilt.
Our heads know the latter is what our departed loved ones would want for us. We just have to make our hearts get there.
Written in memory of Kacey Lauren Goss, November 25, 1993- January 6, 1994.
