A True, True, Christmas
Stephen Eagle Brooks ©2008

 

I have always loved Christmas! After all, what could possibly be wrong with Santa Claus, Jingle Bells, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, mistletoe kisses, and the many other traditions of the most wonderful time of the year? Ah, even the subtle prospect of snow just magnifies the anticipation. From a Christian perspective, I was convinced that I fully understood the significance of December 25th and had long since resolved any concerns I may have had about the blatant commercialism of the day. Holiday music was always a personal favorite. In fact, I even wrote a song entitled “I’m in a Christmas Way” emphasizing that Christmas should be celebrated 365 days of the year. I had it all together… or so I thought.

A typical Christmas morning was rising early, cooking breakfast, awakening our three sleeping teenagers, and arguing over whether to open presents first or eat (resulting in a begrudging compromise). I remember my thankfulness that nothing could ever be better than the exhilaration of each Christmas morning. Little did I know what would ultimately make Christmas 2006 my first true, true Christmas.

Saturday morning, June 10^th, 2006 began as a fairly typical day. My wife and I attended a digital photography workshop in a nearby town. Our youngest daughter (step-daughter to me) (I despise that word!), age sixteen, had spent the night with a friend. Two older children remained at home, sleeping in. At approximately 9:30 a.m., we enjoyed a brief phone conversation with Karson (the youngest) giving her permission to go with friends to eat breakfast. Tragically, we would never speak with her again.

Nothing can prepare a person for such sudden, immutable, seemingly senseless loss. Karson never came home. Instead, she was killed in a horrific automobile wreck at around 11:30 A.M. There is no more sickening feeling than rushing home to find five state troopers, with heads down and hats by their sides, lining the sidewalk to your front door. The stark cold realization of death hit us like a sledgehammer between the eyes. From that moment on, nothing got any easier. Life, as we had known it, was no more.

I have heard that losing a child is the single most difficult thing for a husband and wife to face. It either makes or breaks the marriage. Two months later, my wife and separated. The pain was just too great…the growing rift between us, too wide.

I stayed at the house that once knew laughter and joy…all 5,500 square feet of it… complete with an Olympic size swimming pool, which remained just as empty as the house, for the next six months. What was once a family had been reduced to complete shambles.

So, during the first holiday season after the loss of my youngest daughter, I awoke at 4:30 Christmas morning, alone, really alone, to the hum of my little ceramic heater I kept in the bedroom. It simply did not seem right to heat the whole house when there was no one there—except me. No Christmas tree or other decorations. No desire to listen to Christmas music. No presents. No plans to see anyone to share holiday cheer. I was discouraged and depressed and angry at God. And I let Him know it from the moment I opened my eyes by ranting and raving, kicking Him in the shins, and asking “Why? Why? Why?” over and over again. My tirade lasted until 2:30 in the afternoon when, from absolute exhaustion, I finally collapsed in a heap beside the bed. Tears streaming down my face, I cried out to the very God at whom I was so disgusted.

His response was immediate…gentle and full of so much love and compassion. Speaking spirit to spirit and heart to heart, He softly said, “Today is my birthday. I am having a party. I invited everybody, but you are one of the few who came. I just want you to know how much I love you and had you been the only person on the face of the earth I would have still come for you. Today, for you, I am revealing the true meaning of Christmas. Thanks for sharing my birthday.”

For the first time in my life, I got it. No Christmas will ever be the same. Despite my loss, regardless of my pain, life in Him is sufficient. His presence is, indeed, enough.

In loving memory of Karson Victoria Carroll (March 7, 1990-June 10, 2006) and A.J. Estes (June 24, 1985-June 22, 2008)

A special thank you to the North Carolina Highway Patrol for their unwavering professionalism and support