Christmas Mourning

Almost three decades ago, just two weeks before Christmas, my first husband died unexpectedly at work. I had been out with a girlfriend doing our Christmas shopping all day. This was before cell phones so I was out of reach until I returned to an empty house with packages and a toddler in tow.
Not being home was very unlike him. The meat I had left out to thaw was still on the counter so I knew he hadn’t come home and then left. I called a few friends. They downplayed my growing concern but they didn’t know Ron like I did. He was a man of habit and routine. Something had to be really wrong for him to break out of his regular schedule.
All of a sudden, the phone and doorbell rang at the same time- I froze in my living room. I knew of a surety that I did not want to answer either one. That moment felt like forever although it was only a few minutes. I had just entered the time warp that accompanies mourning.
I answered the phone- it was Ron’s boss. I asked him to wait a moment so I could get the door. There was a police officer telling me that I was needed at the hospital. I went back to the phone and received the same message. I left my toddler with a friend and headed to the hospital.
Ron was already dead but hospital policy stated that only the attending doctor could give me the news. Again it felt like hours as I waited. I’m sure it was not. But it would be weeks before the fog that enveloped me would begin to dissipate. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion.
My three year old was inconsolable. Even in his sleep he sobbed. And it was Christmas. After about 10 days I ventured out with him. I had not taken him to see Santa yet. We went to a large, noisy, crowded mall. We felt like one big open wound. I wanted to scream! I wanted to say to everyone there, “Can’t you see the world has stopped? How can you go on acting like nothing is wrong? Everything is wrong and it will never be right again!!!”
It was then I had an epiphany. I had formed the opinion that the old tradition of wearing black for a period of mourning was barbaric. Even the early 1900’s habit of wearing a black armband to signify one was in mourning had irritated me. Well, now I understood!! It was an outward expression of an inward broken heart. It said, “Treat me gently, please, I hurt so much.”
Since Christmas for most of us is the celebration of the birth of He who heals all broken hearts, let’s give the gift of kindness and gentleness to those around us. Having just been asked by Santa what he wanted for Christmas, that crying three year old on Santa’s lap may be answering, (as my son did), “Santa, I want my Daddy back.”
That’s the view from my side of the street, what’s yours?