I heard a song recently. It’s called “This Time of Year” by Rhys Lewis (you should go listen here). 

 

In case you didn’t listen, part of it goes like this: 

 

“So let's raise a glass to all those

We wish were sitting here

The ones we miss the most this time of year

 

Well, I still hear their voices laughing

At the Christmas-cracker jokes

See their footsteps sinking in the snow…” 

 

I felt that. 

 

The first time I heard this song it kinda stung a little & a lump snuck up in my throat. 

 

Now don’t get me wrong, the holidays are filled with so much happiness. Nothing fills my cup more than being surrounded by so many people I love. 

 

But ever wondered what the holidays are like after losing someone you love? They kinda suck. Every year. Because in seasons that are so centered around family, the absence of someone who used to be there but isn’t anymore is aggressive. The loss feels fresh again. The hurt creeps up so forcefully. 

 

Ecclesiastes 3 says, “There is a time for everything, & a season for every activity under the heavens: … a time to weep & a time to laugh, a time to mourn & a time to dance.” If you would’ve asked me several years ago what that meant, I would’ve told you it meant that eventually our time of weeping & mourning my brother’s death were going to end & turn into a time of joy. 

 

But I was wrong. 

 

I’ve learned that it means sometimes, the two are going to exist together. During the holidays I feel this the most. Weeping & laughter at the same time. 

 

There’s no longer a physical empty spot where we used to hang Blake’s stocking, but we can still feel it. When we sit around as a family, opening gifts & telling stories, I can still hear the echoes of Blake’s laugh in my mind. I can even picture him sitting on the couch in sweatpants & a white tee shirt surrounded by a pile of gifts & stocking goodies with a big smile on his face. 

 

This time of year, I wish most that I could experience that once again. There’s still a hole without him & there probably always will be. 

 

Over the past almost 8 years, I’ve practiced holding grief in one hand and joy in the other. I can smile with tears in my eyes. I can celebrate the birth of our Savior while clinging desperately to His promise of heaven & the hope of hearing my brother’s laugh again someday. 

 

So basically, all that to say this: don’t forget that the next few weeks are bittersweet for a lot of us. If you need to be sad during the holidays, I give you permission. But hold the grief in tension with joy, cherishing every single moment with those sitting next to you.