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Surviving Christmas Without My Son

Writer's picture: Emilie WinnerEmilie Winner




While for most people, Christmas is a season of hope and togetherness, for some of us, it’s also a season that carries the unimaginable weight of loss. The story of Christ’s birth is deeply intertwined with death. He came into the world to save us, born to die for us. Even the gifts brought by the wise men—gold, frankincense, and myrrh—foreshadow His sacrifice. Myrrh, in particular, a burial ointment, speaks to the reality that His life was destined to end on the cross. It’s a poignant reminder that love and suffering are often inseparable companions.


For me, Christmas holds a tension between joy and grief. My son died at Christmas, and this year, he would have turned four. While the world around me is wrapped in cheer—families posting happy photos of their complete families, pregnancy announcements, and babies being born around the same time as Raymond—I find myself drowning in the fog and the weight of his death. This is the most difficult time of the year, and I’m never going to pretend it’s not.


What cuts even deeper is the silence. The silence of one less child crying in church or running around at home. The silence when some of the people we love most fail to remember his birthday. The silence of the world as it continues to move forward as though he was never here. For me, though, he is always here. His presence is as real as it was the day I held my perfect newborn baby in my arms, the day I buried his perfect little body in the ground, and every time I look at my two other children who share his features. I’m trying to learn how to cope with the reality that other people may not care or understand the way I do. When life feels tragic and unbearable, I focus on our immediate family rather than the expectations or indifference of others.


I’ve found myself reflecting on Christ’s suffering, especially His agony in the Garden of Gethsemane. Knowing the immense pain He was about to endure, He prayed so deeply, so desperately, that He sweat blood. I think about my own grief—the way it sends a searing pain through my head and my heart—and I know it doesn’t compare. I have never come close to sweating blood, even on the hardest days, even when the grief is so difficult it feels like my head is going to burst from the pain. And yet, Christ understands. He bore the weight of every sorrow, including mine.


The story of Christ’s birth and death reminds me that He willingly came into this world, knowing He would suffer and die, so that we could have eternal life. As we celebrate the birth of our Savior, I cling to the promise of His unending love and mercy. I hold Christ close in my heart and cling to Him even on the darkest days.

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