When Grief Steals Your Brand New Christmas Tree

Grief can take away the most unexpected and ridiculous things. In January, we stumbled upon two beautiful 9-foot Christmas trees that had been discounted by 90%. I had always wanted trees that went all the way to the ceiling, and finally found them within my tax bracket. So we jumped on them. When we took down our old trees, we donated them. The lights didn’t work, and we thought we wouldn’t use them anywhere else in the house.

But with grief, you’re never the same person from day to day. The me of January 2nd was not the me of November 2nd. When the time came to get out these flawless trees, I was paralyzed by a realization. Our tradition was always that when decorating for the holidays, I would send pictures or Marco Polo videos to Grandma. She would call me immediately to discuss what she liked, what she noticed…and now…there are these new trees. Trees that she has never seen.

I stepped back to survey the finished product. The trees reach the ceiling, making the whole room look taller and more elegant. I had placed candles throughout it for what I hoped would be a Dickensian look. The final assessment?

I hate it. I want my old stubby 7-foot tree back. The one that’s as tall as it is wide and sheds flocking if you simply look at it. But I’d like it back, please. Because she never saw this tree. We never shared anything surrounding it. And because of that, it just feels meaningless. I never thought a tree could be so empty.

If you aren't in a season of grieving or haven't been through one, this might sound rather depressing. If you know that season all too well, this probably also sounds depressing, but at least relatable. I used to think it was wrong to have these thoughts and emotions weigh so heavily during what should be a joyful time. God has held me and carried me through these moments, though. Grief is a constant and absolute undeniable reinforcement of the need for that Newborn King to enter our earthly realm. Sickness, death, and trauma are nothing but a result of man's fall--and need--for Christ. He was born to die. He came to save us from the very thing we try endlessly to run from and repress during this joyous season. Acknowledging that doesn't steal the holiday cheer; it simply acknowledges the reason behind the redemptive work that was born in Bethlehem.

Take heart, friends. He overcame the world for us, and that means one day these trees won't feel so empty.