Christmas music is one of my favorite parts of the holiday season. I have a strong emotional reaction to music. Lyrics speak to me in ways nothing else can. So, it is no surprise Mark Schultz singing “Different Kind of Christmas” opens the floodgates of my emotions every time I listen to it. It is difficult to explain, but love and grief hold the same amount of space in my heart. They overlap and live intertwined, never to be separated. At this time of year, both emotions are ready to spill out at a moment’s notice.

There’s one less place set at the table…

On December 25th, we will celebrate our fourth Christmas without mom. It is still surreal that she is gone. Grief is a strange thing and although I know she is gone, the reality will never fully set in. My heart aches for it to be a terrible mistake. In the beginning, I kept myself busy, constantly on the move. Sadness yells loudest in the quiet stillness. As my emotions ebb and flow, I settle in for the ride. Grief is a lifelong process, and the holidays amplify the intensity. The pain cannot be locked away; it must be felt in all its powerful glory.

There’s just a million little memories…

I love Christmas. A house filled with family, laughter, and sparkling lights is my definition of perfection. Food, drinks, and cookies are everywhere to be shared. What could be better? The excitement as my children open gifts fills my heart with joy. It is contagious. As I wrap presents, plan menus, and bake cookies, memories of Mom flood my every move.

My love for Christmas originated from mom. It’s not my love of decorations and twinkling lights. The woman was a minimalist and could only handle the decorations on the house for a short period. Mom loved her home filled with family, laughter, and happiness. Even as adults, she found ways to be with us on Christmas morning. At first, we all spent the night at “home” on Christmas Eve. As we added spouses and children, the Christmas Eve sleepover became harder to pull off. It morphed into a house-to-house journey on Christmas morning. Where there is a will there is a way. Mom’s will said soak up every Christmas memory possible and hold them close always.

What’s still alive is the legacy you made…

As Christmas nears, love and sadness vie for spots in my present. There will always be an empty spot where Mom belongs. The physical space is empty, but her spirit is in every corner. I remember past Christmases and hold on to the legacy of love she left. I will fill my home with family, good food, and Christmas cheer. When my children open their gifts and I see their smiles and excitement, I will think about my mom’s beautiful, ever-present smile. As I gaze at the nativity scene in the stillness, I will whisper, “Give her a hug for me.”

Just because you’re up in heaven, doesn’t mean you’re not near…

With my whole heart, I believe Mom is home with our almighty God. Like God, mom is omnipresent. She is part of Christ’s eternal body and, therefore, also universal. I will not be able to hug her on Christmas morning physically, but she will be there. Her presence will fill my house and she will be near as we open gifts, share food, and enjoy each other’s company. Her smile will fill the room. I need to remind myself to slow down and feel it. It’s challenging to embrace our emotions, but I’d rather experience the pain of losing great love than never have it at all. My mom’s love was the greatest gift. What better time to celebrate such a gift than on Christmas?

To hear Mark Schultz perform “Different Kind of Christmas” click here.