by Denise Dykstra

We were sitting at our table in a restaurant, waiting for our order to arrive, when “I’ll be Home for Christmas” came on.  “I can’t stand this song.” I must have said with extra vehemence because my husband looked surprised at me.  

“Oh, all the Christmas music.  I know!” He thought he was agreeing with me.  My husband has a thing against nearly every single Christmas song ever.  

But it was not that it was a Christmas song, it was this particular Christmas song.  “I’ll be Home for Christmas?” I raised my eyebrow at him, “I can’t stand to hear it this year.”

I used to sing this song with no thought about it.  It’s a fun Christmas song!  But not this year.  My husband and I were out and about that day to celebrate his birthday, attempting to pretend that our lives have not been a mess for the last bunch of weeks.  That morning our military son had informed us he would not be able to make it home for Christmas.  Earlier that week, I had sat with my parents as we watched the hospice bed be set up in the middle of my parents’ living room for my maternal grandmother to spend her last hours on this earth upon.  

The song hit different this year.

If you look here on Townbroadcast, you’ll see so many obituaries these past few weeks.  Get on any social media and it won’t take you long to hear about another family dealing with illness, pain and loss. 

Our four walls have not been spared.  My extended family has not been spared.  And I am worn out and weary by it all.  I am soul deep weary. 

My husband has been recovering from pneumonia.  As soon as he became sick it was quickly obvious I was not going to be able to sleep next to him and I moved myself to the couch so he could have the entire bedroom to rest.  I thought this may be a quick couple night resting spot.  It’s been three weeks.  

While my hips and my back are (loudly) telling me that a couch is not a bed, I also can tell you that it is rather magical to fall asleep every night to the view of our Christmas tree and to awaken every morning to it’s cheery glow.  

This is where I have found myself, digging deep to find the small joys that are scattered all around me that have been so hard to find in all the sadness of late.  I declare that joy is like a treasure hunt, that we need to fight for it, that joy can be the tiny unmistakable light of ours in the darkest times.  And these past few weeks I have been clawing and searching and finding only the bread crumbs of joy.  But there is still joy, even in these hard days.  

While this may be the most magical time of the year, and I do sincerely hope it is for you, I am well aware that this also can be a hard time for so many.  I will stand beside my parents this week as we lay my grandmother to rest in the cold ground, grateful she is no longer suffering and is spending Christmas in Heaven.  But it’s still going to be hard.  It’s still going to hurt.  

While my husband is finally recovering and I am happy to move off the couch, I have been grateful for the late nights my boys and I have spent chatting and for the cheery greeting glow of the Christmas tree.  

While our son, and so many other military men and women, are gone over Christmas (we watched yet another leave for boot camp this very week), we are grateful for their service and for the knowledge that they will be home again soon – ish – ly.  

This week of Advent is the week of Joy.  There are so many of us that are filled to overflowing with joy for this week.  Christmas is magical like that.  And there are those of us that are hurting deeply, mourning and recovering.  However, it is the Christmas season and all around us are reasons to be grateful if we just look for them.  Christmas is magical in the hard times as well.  In gratitude, there is much joy to be found.  Even if it is only breadcrumbs of joy.