A Widow's Christmas: Grief and Gratitude and a Blue Tree

Five years later

I am hanging decorations on the little blue Christmas tree on our enclosed porch when I find tears streaming down my cheeks. In my hand is the little cardinal a friend gave me the year Ron died.

Commonly cardinals are thought of as a visit or message from a deceased loved one, reminding a person that they are not alone.

The Bird Chronicle

I know Ron was joyfully ushered into Heaven at the moment he fell asleep in his lift chair and drifted into eternity. I know it in my heart, but the little cardinal reminds me that while I am not alone, I am often lonely.

The lot of the widow.

My husband loved Christmas. No, he really LOVED Christmas. Although our early married days were financially tight, he insisted all the kids have lots of presents and that the presents be wrapped in odd shapes and packages so no one would guess what was inside. Many a Christmas Eve was spent with Ron searching the department stores for “just one more gift”. It really didn’t matter what the gift was. It was the quantity that counted to him. I tried to temper his giving from time to time with little success; it was part of who my husband was, a generous man who wanted to share his enjoyment of Christmas with others.

It’s different now. The kids are grown and on their own. This year we decided to give each other small remembrances, silly things from the Dollar Store. And while my father’s large Christmas tree came home from Rehoboth with me in 2023 when my brother and I packed up Dad’s house, I’ve chosen again to put up the little blue tree I purchased after Ron died. More tears roll down my cheek. My father’s death in June is still new.

I sit down for a moment and consider the little tree. I imagine Ron in Heaven. I imagine my father in Heaven, happily reunited with my mother. What could be better than Heaven at Christmas?

And I am overwhelmed with gratitude. Not that my parents and my husband are gone, but because I am still here. Because I still have work to do.

And because my dear husband, who suffered from many illnesses and was on hospice care the last nine months of his life, is now healed. Because my father, who sank slowly into dementia starting last November, is now healed. Because Mom, whose fatal stroke happened on the day after Thanksgiving, is now healed.

And I recall the poem I read at Dad’s memorial service. Death is nothing at all. It does not count.

All is well.
Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!

Henry Scott-Holland. "Death Is Nothing At All." Family Friend Poems, https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/death-is-nothing-at-all-by-henry-scott-holland

What counts is what went before that moment of passing. And as I navigate the fifth Christmas as a widow and the first without my Dad, I will hold onto that.

Even if there are more tears.

I’m among those people who find Christmas a joyous but challenging season. Focusing on the Birth of Jesus helps me put things in context. How do you navigate a difficult season or holiday?

Hi, Readers, I’d like to ask a quick favor. If you’ve enjoyed this post, maybe even learned something from it, would you consider sharing it on your own social media or email or even restacking it here on Substack? I’d appreciate it as I try to spread the realities of adult autism and widowhood!