Today on the radio I heard a question. If there was a person with whom you could spend one more Christmas, who would it be? For me, and I’m sure for Michael as well, it would be with our son Rhys.

What would we do? How would it be?

Rhys would be a new Dad so of course we would go over all the family traditions we had so he could decide which of those he would continue with his own family. There would be Christmas pictures . . . lots of them, with kids, toys, dogs, parents and grandparents all jumbled together and laughing. There would be lots of laughing, because after all, Rhys was the group jokester, with a smile and a laugh that was so infectious you just couldn’t help yourself.

We would have help decorating the hundreds of sugar cookies, so Michael and I wouldn’t have to do it all ourselves. Although, I am quite sure the end result would be much the same; that is not artistic decorating but a slap of frosting and sprinkles so we could all get to the business of eating the cookies.

We would be celebrating first with a quiet Christmas Eve dinner and then the chaotic, noisy and exhausting Christmas Day dinner with all of the family.

The sheer excitement of young children with the run-up to Christmas is forever lost to us. The explanation of the real reason for the season is not likely to be a story we get to share each year. We get time with our granddaughter, for which we are very, very grateful. But I’m sure the experience would have been much more fun to share with Rhys and his daughter at the same time.

But I don’t have another earthly Christmas with my son. So I sit here at my desk, wondering why I still feel so sad even after a few years have gone by. I frankly feel a little jealous of those big family get-togethers. We had hoped for an expanding family, not a shrinking one. We have to carve out our little space and time with our only grandchild, thankful for the time we get between new families, but sad that visits take so much planning and scheduling.

The sadness turns to joy however, when I put the whole situation into its proper perspective. I want another Christmas with Rhys here on earth but how could that experience ever compare to what Rhys now experiences. It would almost be cruel to have him come back here. Michael and I miss Rhys terribly, especially at certain times of the year. But we are blessed with his daughter, blessed with the knowledge of Rhys’ new heavenly home, and truly blessed that we experienced the joy that was Rhys; not just on Christmas Day but for the 20 years he was here. We can’t have one more Christmas here with Rhys but we do anticipate future celebrations with him and our Heavenly Father.

I had an epiphany the other day. It happened I think when I was speaking with some other Gold Star Families. I suddenly realized that it’s not about me! You may chuckle to yourself when I say that because we all would like to think everything that happens is about us. Galatians 6:3 says “For if anyone thinks himself to be something, when he is nothing, he deceives himself.”

But what I realized is that the loss of our hero makes us uniquely qualified to reach out to others who are hurting. All we need is a servant’s heart. We should be “bondservants of Christ, doing the will of God from the heart, with goodwill doing service, as to the Lord, and not to men, knowing that whatever good anyone does, he will receive the same from the Lord, whether he is a slave or free.” (Ephesians 6:6-8). We each have a story to share that connects us with others who are fearful or sorrowful. We can truly say to someone, “I understand the personal pain, I’ve been there.” But we can also say that we’ve made it to the other side of the valley. We can make ourselves available to share, to hold, to hug, or to sit in silence. We get it.

I challenge all of those who are in this position not to forget your hero, not to minimize the sadness, but to consider that so many others can be served. So many people are lost and struggling. You were made for a time such as this. You can make a difference.

Do we become less tolerant of behavioral quirks in others after we’ve lost our hero? Are we less willing to overlook those annoying foibles in others and just exclaim “get over it already?”

Why is it we feel like this? I think there are two reasons.

a. We resent people telling us to “get over it” so we transfer that resentment to someone else. Didn’t Jesus say, “Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?” Matthew 7:3-5

How many times did people ask you if you were over your grief or if you had moved on yet? Besides being annoying, that question was simply a reminder of how much our lives have changed. We don’t get over it or move on. We move forward while living a new type of normal. Nothing will ever be the same again. But it is up to us to work through the pain and the adjustments. The whole situation cannot be blamed on anyone else. We cannot be so critical of each other that we forget each one of us has something we are trying to work through, whether it is grief, anger, addiction, or whatever. We need to give each other a break! More importantly, we each have a contribution to make to this world, no matter how large or small. Everyone has value. (more…)