Christmas after death…

Typically at Christmas I write a post about the “war on Christmas” or why I choose to celebrate despite being an Atheist… I will write about traditions and how important they are to me. This year I can’t seem to do it. This year was different. This year I lost my baby.

I have had no motivation to celebrate since the loss of my pregnancy. Four holidays that I enjoyed each year for 32 years didn’t make it to 33… not Halloween, not my birthday, not Thanksgiving and now not even Christmas.

I watch friends that have suffered loss finding comfort in their religion and just for a moment I wish I could also believe that everything was okay. They are confident their child is in a better place. They know the plan God had was for their child to sit beside him, to watch over them, to help others get through life. Their child was actually divine and therefore they are blessed to have received this gift.


As a nonbeliever I don’t have that. I know that what happened was inevitable, not because God needed my child but because genetics failed me. A chromosome abnormality made it so my child was never going to survive, even if I had carried to term. I know my child is gone and I will never see them again.  So what now?

I have actually had someone question if this is really that upsetting. It is. I have had people say it gets easier. I am sure it does… but not this Christmas. Something about the holiday season seems to make people more sentimental. Personally I find myself reminiscing of a simpler time. A time of innocence. When the older generations shouldered the stress and the burden and everything looked just fine to me. Maybe ignorance really is bliss… that would certainly explain the comfort my friends are able to feel. Due to their religion they are trapped in the mindset of a child. Instead of growing to shoulder the burden that was once held by older generations they can circumvent it by passing the buck to God. Sometimes I have to wonder which of us is the lucky one. A line from the dreadful remake of “Miracle on 34th street” springs to mind… “What’s better? A lie that draws a smile or the truth that draws a tear?”. In my heart I know that for better or worse it is always best face reality and find a rational way to deal with the situation… but that doesn’t mean it is easy to do.

The first Christmas without my pappy broke my heart, the first without my grandma felt that much worse but somehow this one tops them all. I don’t care if anyone understands my pain, I felt my baby inside me, I saw the life we created and that life was lost. I wish there was an easy explanation of how to handle Christmas after a death but there isn’t. For now I will continue to lean on those that love me and look towards the future. I will focus on the positive aspects of my life, for in the grand scheme of things I am incredibly fortunate. This particular year was quite trying, but  it has to get better at some point… right?


3 thoughts on “Christmas after death…

  1. I apologize. I don’t know you very well, but follow your interesting blog (website). One reason that I follow you is that you’re not too prolific; I don’t like dozens of things in my inbox weekly that basically just say the same thing. I learned quickly that you don’t do that. I like your blog very much.

    I’m sorry for your loss. I’m not saying I can comprehend it very well as I’ve never had children. But the loss of family members I know very well. I see that you do, too. That IS something we share. Things don’t sort out too well during some of the years of our lives. Freshly wrought pain is the most difficult to quell (if indeed we need to quell it at all).

    You poured out your soul up there. I want you to know how respectful I feel due to what you’ve written. I have notifications on at WordPress. If there is anything at all I can do for you, please reply.

  2. I cannot express my sorrow at your loss.
    There is no word in the. English language for death of a child. It simply is not supposed to happen. Allow yourself to grieve not just the baby but also lost promise. I feel that most keenly. I used to counsel parents (I’m a nurse practitioner) who had a miscarriage or stillbirth or death during the first year and so many would say~”I don’t know why this hit me so hard it was only (name however many months you want). If I had given birth that would be different.” Only in explaining that grief isn’t just from a physical loss but the hopes, dreams, lost promise. So grieve as you must. I’m also willing to offer an ear here for you if you need it. My email is rhijulbec at hotmail dot com. If you don’t feel comfortable with that know there are others who know your sorrow and in that there is a strength.
    I thin ’16 has been the absolute pitts!!
    I know your sorrow. My daughter died almost 33 years ago (Juile Diana b. 12 Feb 1984 – d. 07 April 1984) and her loss is still like a heavy overcoat I donned years ago. I’ve gotten used to the weight, but that overcoat will always be part of my luggage. I took more comfort in thinking of her returning to the stardust from which she came than in some titular mansion waiting for me.
    Our ashes will be blended and spread at “my river” in my home town.
    Here’s hoping you find peace of mind in ’17. Time really is the only cure.
    I hope I didn’t upset you in any way. My heart aches for you.

    1. Thank you so much for sharing your story. To turn the tragic death of your child into a chance to counsel others is truly amazing. I agree that it isn’t just the physical loss. Even though I saw the baby in my womb and watched the flicker of it’s heartbeat… it wasn’t just the physical being that was lost that day. If you check out my “uterus from nothing” series you’ll see that I needed fertility treatments to conceive my first daughter, so to become pregnant on my own was our miracle… we were so happy. For it all be taken away was my worst nightmare. Everything I was dreaming of for this child no longer mattered. Just two days after my D&C someone very close to me asked “are you really that upset about this?”. I started to question my own feelings, wondering if they were valid. Now I know I need to take my time and that (sadly) there are many many people that can relate.

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