A Holiday Rewritten
The road stretched ahead of us as we headed home from a holiday visit with my 90-year-old mom. Our lighthearted conversation reflected the afterglow of a joyful visit. We giggled as we recounted my mom’s entertaining banter. Still quick-witted, she had us in stitches.
My phone vibrated on the center console, interrupting our happy chatter. My daughter answered for me as I continued to drive. The tone of their conversation silenced our laughter. The atmosphere in the car shifted with unspoken concern.
“Call Aunt Lois when you get home. She doesn’t want to talk to you while you drive.
I feared Mom had overdone it. My mind swirled with potential calamities, but I let it go, simply assuming my sister wanted my undivided attention. I expected a minor concern, maybe a reminder to check in. I wasn’t prepared for the weight of what came next.
However, it wasn’t about my mom; it concerned my sister, Linda. Just two years older than me, she collapsed from a ruptured brain aneurysm. Our merry holiday crumbled around me as I recognized the seriousness of the situation. Time seemed to pause. I prayed as I’ve never prayed before. I prayed for the healing of brain tissue, for complete restoration. Her vitals improved, her body was rallying, and my prayers intensified. Then on day three, Christmas day, her brain function diminished, and the machines were turned off. She was gone.
Our favorite holiday would never be the same. As I remember that day, I feel the bewilderment all over again. Unable to fully grasp this new reality, I went through the motions required of me after such a loss. Grief became my companion as I adjusted to life without her. Our family time continued, but my mind was already somewhere else, grasping for understanding, for control, for anything
The laughter we shared with Mom felt like a distant echo, but it reminded me that joy and sorrow often walk hand in hand. And in that tension, I found the promise of Immanuel, God with us, glowed beneath the surface of our grief. The power of this familiar verse took on greater weight. It became personal. “Look! The virgin will conceive a child! She will give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel, which means ‘God is with us.’” Matthew 1:23 (NLT) The power of this truth eclipses the shadow of death that tries to linger.
And isn’t that the point of Jesus coming to earth anyway? He eliminated the sting of death. Our pain in loss is real, but it is temporary. Comforted by the Holy Spirit, I’m reminded of my future, where there will be no more tears.
After a year of grief counseling, I untangled the holiday from the complexities of my sorrow. A greater reverence inhabits my soul. A quiet glow remained—not from the decorations, but from the truth I cling to. It is still my favorite time of the year, but now its promise comforts me. Because of this promise, I will be reunited with my sister again.
Have you experienced loss this year? Are you dreading the holidays because of it? You’re not alone. The ache of absence is real—but so is the comfort of God’s presence. Take heart in the foundational promise of this season: Immanuel. God with us. He has defeated death, and because of Him, sorrow will not have the final word.
