For those of us who have lost loved ones, a sure-fire way to trigger yourself into a pit of despair is to blindly face old traditions without a plan.  Tradition, to many struggling with grief and loss, is a word coated with emotion of various kinds.  Wrapped with hooks, barbs, harpoons, and Velcro, there’s rarely any escape when facing holiday traditions.  The soul already hurting has little chance against what “always was.” There’s bound to be some sort of damage—it’s Christmas week.  It’s a war zone out there.

Trust me.  I know.

And from one who’s lost a loved one to another, there were many years I went down in flames during the holidays.  Let me explain.

Getting out special ornaments brought pain.  After all, she would never hold them again.  I was afraid to break them.  The guilt would never pass if I did. 

I attempted to make her favorite cookies but failed.  They didn’t taste the same.  How could they?  I never had a chance to successfully duplicate them—I didn’t cook the same way.  Unmet expectations brought heartache.  Maybe it’s better not to try.

Favorite songs were supposed to bring joy.  Instead, they brought sorrow.  Wasn’t a melody meant to lift me?  Especially now?  Especially at Christmas?

And to be part of a tradition?  Something done for years? When your loved one cannot partake of it with you?  The mind refused to relent.  A battle within my head fought wars night and day.  Confusion.  Indecision.  Should I still do our traditions alone?  Is it disrespectful?  Or does it bring more honor to keep something alive?  How am I supposed to know?

Yes, for the wounded heart, holiday traditions can get messy.

But something special happened this year.  Something I’d like to share with you.  When I realized what was happening, I saw how beautiful it was.  A gift.  Evidence that traditions can still take place with smiles.  Passing it on to you . . . might just bring you similar joy this Christmas.

I believe there is a way to do things.  A union of sorts.  A way to get through traditions.  Possibly even . . . enjoy them.

Maybe people who have lost can still enjoy tradition . . . in a different way. 

Without realizing what I was even doing, Faerie (my wife of a blended family of three boys) and I were at Walmart buying candy house kits like we do every year.  Because it’s what we do.  I’ve done it for years.  It’s one of those must-do things each year.  We sat down at the kitchen table.  Faerie opened up the candy.  Three boys and a girlfriend all picked which house kit they wanted to decorate.  The festivities began.

A tradition that started back in . . . wow . . . 2007?

The oldest quickly found out that he and his girlfriend had a bigger project than expected.  They opened their house, discovering it was broken to pieces—like a comet had struck it from the sky.  But he’s a college guy, building and designing robots.  He’s got the mind of an engineer and can figure out how to make it work.  Before I knew it, a house was standing—albeit modern and configured with an architectural flair.

The middle son blew the doors off the project with creativity.  I didn’t even know what he was doing.  I looked to see that he had sawed out window holes in his gingerbread house walls.  Then he made his way to the stove, cooked some concoction in a skillet and poured liquid into a mold.  The liquid hardened: candy glass windows.  Brilliant, I thought.  Edible, transparent glass.  Impressive.

The youngest went to work as well.  Tasting and building, building and tasting.  It looked like a piece of art.  He wore a lot of it.  And he would start to eat it before it was even set up.

Tradition?  Yes.  It’s tradition.  Something I started with the older boys back when their mother was alive.  Something she did with them too.  And we do it every year.

But you might ask . . . how can we do such a tradition?  Didn’t it hurt to do something that “always was?”

I think the simple answer to the question was no, it wasn’t hard.  In fact, it was quite enjoyable.  Here’s my thoughts on why:

It might sound oversimplified, but traditions can be tweaked.  Our same old tradition is now done slightly different.  Everybody gets their own candy house now days as a chance to see how creative and individualistic they can be.  I watch the boys glance at each other’s houses, checking out details, noting what is going on.  It’s almost an unspoken contest in ways.  Each year they push the boundaries of last year’s skill level.  The competitiveness has brought a fresh look to things.  They love it.  Everybody looks forward to the tradition of candy house night.

If traditions are giving you trouble this holiday season, try putting just enough twist on your tradition to make the same thing, different.  Bring a friend into the mix.  Invite someone new to join in.  Add a new taste, smell, or sight.  If you still want to do that special something but can’t seem to bring yourself to do it, then camouflage it with something that will make it happier, permissible, or easier. 

After my first wife passed it was very hard on me to decorate a Christmas tree.  It was so hard, in fact, that the boys and I went out and bought some junky ornaments for a few bucks just to throw on as decorations.  They were of the lowest quality, but we didn’t care.  We still had a beautiful tree with colors and lights, and Mom’s ornaments would never break now . . . giving us the freedom to celebrate without worry.  In the following years, we made ornaments with clay, seashells, and other “mancave” designs.  It soon became a sight of inspiration, as we were all impressed at how we were doing.  If a tree is too hard for you to decorate, then switch it up.  Keep the tradition but change it.  Buy an indoor palm from Home Depo and string some lights around it for just this one time.  It might make the difference of getting through a hard thing with grace.  And after you’ve completed your holiday tradition, next year you can go back to the original way.  But honestly, who knows . . . perhaps the indoor palm will stay!

And as I watched these three houses being built, I realized something special.  As we were doing a tradition that would have once brought pain, a union of the past and present suddenly fused together.

It was like I had gone back in time.  I looked at our middle child, who was meticulously perfecting icing shingles on his roof.  Though he wouldn’t know it, fifteen years ago, his mother would have done it the same way.  And as I watched him build his candy house, I sat in awe at how genes and bloodlines are passed from one generation to the next . . . even if that generation is unaware of such things.  He was too little to remember back then.  He was only two at her last Christmas.  He wouldn’t have known how she made houses.  He couldn’t have known. 

Could he?

And so, I told him: “You’re doing that just like your mother would have done.”  It brought a smile to everyone in a way.  In a moment when we least expected it, we were able to enjoy the exact tradition started years ago but in a new way, an enjoyable way.  And doing it like that brought the sweet feelings and memories of the past into the present.  But it didn’t sting.  Not in the way we were doing things.  Instead, it was sweet.  Very sweet.

Looking at the finished product, his house was a carbon copy of another made fifteen years prior.  All except that his mother would have never thought to forge transparent edible glass and install windows.

Pretty sweet.  She’d be proud.

If you are having trouble with traditions this season, please know that I’m not downplaying your feelings or emotions.  I know how raw and real the absence of someone you love can be—especially this time of year.  I reach out to you.  It’s hard.  Seemingly impossible at times.  But the good news is that there might just be a way to keep tradition, honor the old and the new, and even enjoy yourself in the process.

For me and my house, the same tradition has survived all these years.  Now that I’m remarried, Faerie enjoys it as well.  She helps stock the building supplies, take photos, share the smiles, and make more memories.  It’s a joy to uphold a tradition.  And we’ll do it again next year. And the next. And the next . . .

My hope is that you can as well.  My prayer is that you can enjoy a sweet moment this Christmas, not only sadness.  I challenge you to be creative.  Figure out how to do the same thing, different.  Think of how to make that painful tradition easier, permissible, or even fun.  Figure out how to make edible sugar windows.  Bring a friend into the mix.  Send me a picture of your Christmas palm tree in the comments.  I’d love to celebrate it with you!

I know it’s hard, friend.  But the God of all comfort can bring you comfort even now.  Don’t skip tradition.  Tweak it. Be brilliant.  Think of an untraditional way.  Keep your tradition. 

Trust me.  It will be much more satisfying than trying to do without. 

Merry Christmas from our house to yours.

By Chuck Carr.