Our church began hosting a service last year called Blue Christmas. They are quick to reassure everyone that Elvis won’t be played at any time during it, though. It is a service to allow people who are having a hard time for whatever reason, and including due to the passing of a loved one, during the holidays. Because you know what? A lot…seriously…A LOT…of people don’t really agree with the lyrics of it being the most wonderful time of the year. Instead, many folks tend to make it through the holidays more in keeping with the lyrics of the song, “We Need A Little Christmas” which was basically written about a woman losing everything during the Depression but trying to keep her chin up while her young nephew was watching.
I wanted to go to the Blue Christmas service last night because I wanted to support my friends who had lost loved ones or were having a hard time emotionally. I wanted to go to support the fact that our church offers this. Because it’s not a crowd-pleaser kind of an event, but it is important. For the most part, I don’t think we like to talk about grief or going through hard times while so much holly jolly mayhem is being stirred into our cups of hot chocolate.
Christmas has been hard for me since my grandmother passed away from Alzheimer’s disease and was no longer here to celebrate it with us. She was always Christmas to me. Losing my sweet friend a few months ago to the same disease, though she was only 58 and my grandmother was 92, has packed a double whammy this year. But I tried hard to convince myself that I was at that service for other reasons.
And I did a good job of keeping my mind separated from my heart for almost the entire service.
Until we were given the opportunity to walk up and get a shiny blue ornament from a basket on the table and write the name(s) of those we’ve lost on the ornament. It wasn’t until that moment, standing there holding that silver Sharpie pen and having to put a name to the hurt I’ve been holding in a pocket of my soul that my heart finally won the war with my mind and caused a plumbing leak from my tear ducts.
I was so grateful for the prayers that found their way to me in that moment from my pastor and his wife. And then for the hug that swallowed me when I got back to my seat.
Grief is odd. And it is inevitable in life. It is undeniable in the world of Alzheimer’s, from the moment the diagnosis is handed down and in a million different ways along that journey.
At the end of the service, the lights were dimmed and everyone lit candles off of each other while we sang a familiar lullaby of Christmas. Watching each candle light the next was almost like a little of the love for each person who had been lost was being passed on between us. And, even as the weight of each person’s hurt hung heavy in the air, holding a light towards Heaven truly did make it seem as if, even only for a moment, that all is calm and all is bright…????
