Monday, December 26, 2016

Christmas Without Kids




Yesterday morning, before the kids left, I received this plaque. Today, I am home alone. I’m actually pretty OK. It took years - 13 to be exact - to get to this place of peace in the quiet. I pray for all the single parents who are alone today. I ask that they find contentment in the silent moments before they’re reunited with their kids. Like Paul in Phillipians 4:7, I pray that,  
“the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Holidays without your children are rip-your-heart-out hard. There’s no way around it. There are good moments, sure, but there is grief in the missing, too. 

When you have the privilege of celebrating among family and friends, you’re there - but not fully there - because part of you is missing. Some moments you get a respite from the missing, but then you’re brought right back into an irksome alternate universe where the kids should be but aren’t. When you’re alone, it can be nearly impossible to distract yourself from the missing. I recommend that you breathe. Maybe color with felt-tip markers or binge on Netflix because there’s no way you’ll be able to concentrate on a book.

With 13 years of experience, I can tell you, it does get easier. It’s never fabulous, but it does get better. You don’t worry about how they’ll be when they’re gone because your kids grow up and learn to fend for themselves. If they go somewhere sunny, there’s a good chance they will wear sunscreen. If they’re cold, they can don their own gloves (gone are the days of mittens strung between sleeves.)

These days, my kids drive back and forth from their dad’s holiday festivities in their own cars. I trust that they will arrive safely, even though the roads are terribly slick today. I will not hold my breath until they get home because they have learned how to drive in the snow and ice. I trust them. And guess what – they trust me. They know that I will display a sufficient level of concern but not be freaked out by every little thing like I was when they were younger. (I’m not taking credit here; it’s a gift from God - and from all the years of experience of them arriving home safely.)

They love that I’m their mom. What more could I ask for at Christmas?