As a grieving mom, I sometimes feel as though I am living in two parallel realities at once: the life that could have been and the life that actually is. This is an aspect of grief that may be somewhat unique to child loss. When you lose a loved one later in life, like a grandparent, you are left with lots of memories to look back on. Specifically over the holidays, you can reflect on the Christmases you spent with them to keep their memory alive. Since Eden died as a newborn, I didn’t get years of memories with her. My future with her was erased in an instant. I didn’t only lose a 6-week-old, I lost a two-year-old too. Since I don’t have any Christmas memories with Eden to look back on, all I can do is imagine what it would have been like.
As a grieving mom, I sometimes feel as though I am living in two parallel realities at once: the life that could have been and the life that actually is.
my alternate reality
If Eden was still alive, she would have undoubtedly been the center of attention at Christmas. She would have brought her parents and grandparents so much joy at family gatherings. They would have spoiled her with gifts. Eden probably would have enjoyed the twinkly lights and maybe even gotten to taste some treats. I wonder: What gifts would I have bought her this year? What would I have put in her stocking? Would I have dressed her and Jude in matching outfits? I know all this wondering may seem fruitless, but thinking about these things is one way I can continue to mother her.
My actual reality
Even though Eden cannot be the center of everyone’s attention at holiday festivities, her absence is at the center of my attention. Everywhere I look, I am reminded that she is gone. I’m aware that there are no presents with her name under the tree. I’m aware whenever she isn’t talked about or included by others. I’m aware that I can’t include her in our family pictures with her own set of matching Christmas pajamas.
I doubt that it will ever feel normal that one of my children is missing at Christmas. Trying to enjoy holiday traditions without Eden feels unnatural and even wrong. What once felt light and easy now feels heavy and forced. I still try my best to participate, but it often feels like I am just going through the motions to appease others and meet their expectations of me.
What feels helpful
It helps me tremendously when others around me make an effort to include Eden in some way. There are many different ways people have done this, and it can be as simple as statements like:
- “I know today is hard without Eden.”
- “I know you miss Eden today.”
- “I wish Eden could be here today.”
- “What do you think Eden would have liked for Christmas this year?”
Or also, in gestures like:
- Including her name on Christmas cards to our family.
- Buying a gift for her and donating it to a family in need.
- Gifting an ornament that reminds us of her.
- Lighting a candle for her.
- Gifts for Jude in memory of Eden, like hedgehog toys or “little brother” clothes.
- Getting flowers to represent her (last year, my mom had a bouquet of roses for Eden at Christmas).
Statements and gestures like these may not be intuitive to someone who has not lost a child, but they can bring comfort to a griever. It helps so much when someone simply acknowledges the absence that nags at me so relentlessly. Eden’s death often feels like the elephant in the room that I can see, but others get to ignore. When someone stops to tell me that they know I’m still hurting and missing her, it helps me feel a little more understood and a little less alone. Hearing Eden’s name is like music to my ears, especially on the particularly hard days.
My first Christmas without Eden
Approaching the holidays again brings back a lot of difficult memories of the last couple of years. My first Christmas without Eden, she had just died only weeks before. One of the hardest parts about that season was that I had been very hopeful that she would be there for it. Eden’s holiday bows that I ordered from Etsy arrived at my doorstep days after her death, and went straight into storage unopened.
That year, there was no Christmas tree in our home. I refused to be in any pictures, because it only served as a reminder that my whole family could not be together. Family members at Christmas gatherings greeted me with lighthearted “how are yous” that didn’t seem to leave space for an honest answer. I remember escaping the holiday parties on multiple occasions to cry silently in the bathroom, fix my makeup, then attempt to be around people again. Looking back, it’s obvious to me that I wasn’t ready to be a part of those celebrations, but all I could do was try.
My second Christmas without Eden
My second Christmas without Eden, I was a newly postpartum mom struggling with severe anxiety. I watched Jude be passed around and adored by everyone. This sight was probably something that would be enjoyable to most new moms, but instead I was filled with fear over potential illnesses going around. I also felt an overwhelming emptiness from missing Eden, and that pain seemed to be overshadowed by everyone’s joy over Jude’s presence. I found myself juggling so many seemingly conflicting emotions at once.
There are things that I have done to honor Eden at Christmas that felt healing. I don’t think there are any right or wrong ways for grieving mothers to honor their children in Heaven at Christmas, so I try to lean into whatever feels best for me at the time. When choosing traditions or rituals to remember Eden, it feels more natural and loving to do things for her that I would be doing for all of my children anyway.
Things like:
- Picking out ornaments for her.
- Recreating ornaments that I made for her for Jude, so that they have matching ornaments.
- Hanging a stocking for her.
- Picking out gifts for her, and “re-gifting” them to my friend’s children around the same age.
Looking ahead
The idea of navigating a third Christmas without Eden feels daunting. I feel torn between wanting Christmas to be special for Jude, but also wishing there could be a two-year-old Eden with us. Fortunately, I am in a much better place mentally and emotionally than I was the past two Christmases.
I have been reflecting on how I can make this holiday season a better one. This year, I want to learn how to better communicate my needs to those around me. Therapy has taught me that there is nothing wrong with setting boundaries and communicating what I can and cannot handle when it comes to social obligations. Looking back on what was hard the past two years, many of my problems likely stemmed from expecting others to read my mind. I am slowly learning to extend grace when others don’t intuitively understand what is helpful for me in my grief. Likewise, I want to learn to be less hard on myself in the moments when I don’t exactly feel jolly.
I want to embrace the freedom to create new family traditions that feel right, rather than trying to force the old ones that don’t. I look forward to finding new ways to honor and include Eden at Christmas, while also recognizing that next year I may want to do something totally different.
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