Christmas in October
“They will call him Immanuel.”
Matthew 1:23 (NIV)
It’s been eight months since James Bruce’s sudden death. At first our grief was so great that I could only pray, “God, hold us close.” Bruce and I are still adjusting to our new “normal,” whatever that may eventually look like. Ask any parents of a special needs child and they will quickly tell you that life with disability is anything BUT normal.
Our “normal” was abnormal for the 37 years that James Bruce lived in our home. His 11-month residential stay at Rainbow Omega was a chance to take a deep breath after 14 months of 24/7 Covid mandetory lockdown with us. Still there were many challenges: phone calls; behavior issues; doctor appointments; weekend home visits; assessment and care plans. And always the nagging question, “What if he gets dismissed from this program?”
In this season of grief, our lives are so much easier, at least physically and financially, but they are in many ways, less full. Bruce and I are still trying to find our new life rhythms beyond caregiving. James Bruce’s death left not only a hole in our hearts, but also a hole in our schedules. We both are freer to explore new ways to serve our family, friends, and the Body of Christ. We enjoy helping with our grandchildren and attending Vestavia High School football games. It has also been a great joy to have our youngest son Daniel and his wife move to Birmingham. Bruce volunteers once a month in Briarwood’s Special Connection ministry. I am teaching a weekly Bible study and mentoring young women.
Still I find myself identifying with author Tim Challies’ words in his excellent book Seasons of Sorrow. Challies writes, “My grief has advanced from a sharp pain to something more like a dull ache. And I know this is an ache I will carry for the rest of my life…While I still associate Nick with my past and future, I no longer associate him with my present.”
Three weeks ago, I wrote nine Advent devotionals for the Briarwood November women’s ministry event. That work forced me to contemplate this first Christmas without James Bruce. I knew it would come, of course, but I didn’t anticipate dealing with Christmas in October.
Right after James Bruce died, Bruce warned me, “The first year will be the hardest. We just have to get through it.” Bruce understands grief well. His Dad Big Bruce died suddenly from a heart attack at age 41. Bruce was just 16.
But we are not the only ones dealing with grief. Much like the pebbles thrown into a pond, a loved one’s death creates a ripple of concentric grief circles. Bruce and I are in grief’s center circle, but my three other children have lost a beloved brother. My granddaughters have lost an uncle. Our extended family grieves the loss of a grandchild, nephew, and cousin. Dear family friends like Peyton, Daria, and Miss June not only miss James Bruce, but grieve because we grieve. Our grief is a shared sorrow.
Last week my sister, James Bruce’s Aunt Jan, had no idea that I was dealing with Christmas in October grief when she posted the following:
“Many of you are in my boat; approaching the holiday season without that special loved one to buy for. I admit. It got to me last week. As I surveyed the generous Christmas bounty on my guest bed, I realized for the very first time in 38-years, there was to be no present bought for my nephew, Brucie. He was always my favorite to buy for, although it was a monumental task to find just the right colorful, stuffed fur-baby that could sing and dance its way into Brucie's heart. His love of music, coupled with his autism, always presented a challenge of finding just the right gift. But Brucie graduated to heaven 7 months ago, and his aunt found herself grief-stricken when creating the multiple Christmas present piles.”
All of us knew how much James Bruce loved Christmas. He loved our Advent devotionals; the lights, food, and of course, the presents. But most of all, James Bruce loved the season’s music. His favorite Christmas song was “For Unto Us a Child is Born” from Handel’s Messiah. Our entire family loved sharing Christmas with him, for we always saw Christmas through the faith and eyes of a child who loved God.
Reflecting this morning, God reminded me that Thanksgiving always comes before Christmas. In the midst of this first season of grief, I can give thanks for:
The gift of James Bruce
God, the Giver who gave him to us
The blessing of being JB’s Mama
The hardship and heartache that forced us to be desperate and dependent on God
The P\privilege of gathering our broken pieces (John 6:12) for God’s glory
As Christians we never grieve alone. Immanuel is “God with us” (Matthew 1:13). That truth is the “good news of great joy” message of Christmas, not just in October, but every day of the year!