Bittersweet Christmas

The holidays can be the hardest. You can be going along just fine, getting through the days with little problem, and then the holidays hit.

That is when the loss comes home again.

If you have ever lost someone very close to you, you know what I mean. If you never have, (1) count your blessings and (2) you can stop reading now. You won't get it. How could you?

For those who have lived through the loss of someone so special, you know. You are a member of the club that no one wants to belong to. You know about loss, and about getting through it fairly well, until the holidays roll around again.

That is when, no matter how well you think you are doing, your throat gets tight again. It hurts to breathe again. One carol on the radio can put you over the edge in the Jewel parking lot. In that moment, you feel like you get kicked in the gut to know that that incredible person in your life is never coming back.

If you have lost someone close, like your mother or father, your child, your sister or brother or a very close grandparent, you just know the holidays are not going to be easy.

For me, it was losing my parents that hurt the most. My dad died in 1978 and my mom died in 1986. Generally, throughout the year, thanks to friends, family and a strong faith, I would say I am doing well. At the holidays, however, it still can be tough. But I can still remember the good years.

I remember waking up early as a very young girl in Traer, Iowa, and running downstairs in my red footy pajamas and jumping on my parents bed, pleading, "Wake up! Wake UP! Santa came here last night!!!"

And then my dad would scoop me up, and we'd go unlock the double doors to our parlor room where the Christmas tree stood. It was surrounded by what seemed like a mountain of presents. My older brothers and I would dive in and tear open the gifts with abandon. One year, I remember them receiving an electronic football game while I got a beautiful pink plastic Barbie Dream Van. Pure joy.

We were blessed with many happy Christmases. My folks worked hard to make it look easy, and even though we were not wealthy, we were comfortable. We were loved. For that, I am truly grateful.

But Dad died in a boating accident just before my 11th birthday. Then, six years later, Mom died of breast cancer 11 days before Christmas.

Let me tell you, that was a bitter holiday season.

There were always people who tried to help, who invited my brothers and me to their celebrations. But that almost made it worse. It is strange how others' joy can magnify your own personal loss. The thing about the holiday season is that you think you should be happy. It seems like EVERYONE is. But the holidays that bring it all back.

I think it's the traditions. Putting up Christmas ornaments. Hanging the wreath on the door. Singing the familiar songs. Eating certain holiday cookies. It takes you right back, whether you want to go or not.

During the rest of the year (or years), you learn to get by. It eventually gets easier to breathe again. You focus on the lessons learned. 

My mom and dad taught me to give generously and to cherish those around you. My brothers taught me the importance of continuing to get together, even when it isn't always convenient. And the Sagendorphs have taught me that a big, boisterous family is a blessing. 

Family is so important to me. My brothers and I still get together for the holidays, although on a somewhat smaller scale. I got married to a wonderful man 21 years ago and we have two terrific kids (now teenagers) who bring joy to the season. This year, we are hosting his side of the family for Christmas so our house will be full of food, laughter and fun. And there will be a small mountain of presents underneath the tree. I know how truly lucky I am.

I also know that many others are not so lucky. They may be facing more recent losses of friends or family members, or of jobs or homes, this year that make it so hard to celebrate the season.

That is why I wanted to share some of my personal story. To say you are not alone. To promise that it will get better, that there will be joy again. And to wish you peace.