When a parent loses a child, an awful hole is left. It doesn’t matter how the death occurs, it’s still a loss that cuts to the very core. It is a wound that does not heal.

I spent a lot of time this weekend close to tears. I’m trying to hold it together. This is the first Christmas in 3 years that I’ve been happy.  I don’t want to let the evil in this world win. I don’t want to let their senseless acts of violence ruin my happiness. And I have that power over them; I will not give in! I don’t want to succumb to the deep pit of depression that I have finally managed to climb out of.  I want to be happy and enjoy the charm that Christmas time holds. After all, it is the glory of Jesus’ birth – the beginning of our salvation.

My mind knows this but it’s hard to convince my heart. See, I know that in the weeks and the months that pass, the rest of the world will remember the shooting in Sandy Hook with sadness, but they won’t remember it quite as often.  It will be lumped in with the Columbine, Colorado Theatre and the Virginia Tech shootings. There won’t be the daily reminder of the innocence lost that day for everyone. But for a parent who’s lost a child, that hollow reminder is with them every day.  This is what I am struggling with now. I identify with those parents and I’m trying so hard not to get lost in my grief as I feel empathy for them.  I understand what they are feeling, but I have to be careful to not lose the tenuous ground I’ve fought to regain on my emotional and mental health since we lost our baby.  And, I refuse through my stubborn-bullheadedness to allow the Adam Lanzas, Eric Harrises, Dylan Klebolds, James Holmes and other senseless killers to claim one more victim posthumously. They don’t deserve the infamy they’ve already gained through their acts of atrociousness. They certainly don’t deserve my tears.

But for all my resolve, I worry about the people of Newtown. For the parents of those precious angels, time has stopped.  They will wonder why the seasons have changed, why Christmas hasn’t just stopped, how life can go on when they feel like their whole world died inside that school. They will struggle to remember a happier time and they will feel guilty when they laugh.  They will want to talk about their child and fewer people will be willing to listen as time goes by.  The parents of those 20 precious children will be stuck, for a while longer, in the hell that was that fateful Friday.  Every day for a long time, it will seem like it just happened. That ‘long time’ is an individual measure. It could be a few weeks; it could be a few months. It could take years. No matter the time frame, it is ok.  They will see children that remind them of their angel and their hearts will hurt. They will see a child playing ball and wonder, “Why isn’t my child here to do that?” They will ache, but they will force a smile and soldier on.

What can I offer them? Life does go on. It’s not the same; you are forever changed when your child dies. But there is hope.  When you laugh, you are laughing for your child. When you smile, you cast a light about you that reflects their specialness and illuminates the world. It reminds us all, that even for a short time, they were here and they touched you deeply. No one can take that away.  So laugh and smile and remember the good times. Know that your arms may physically ache to hold them.  But the upside is that it means you had someone to love and to love you back. And the dark and twisted psyche of one individual cannot take that from you. Ever. Don’t let them win.  Grieve when you feel the need and know that laughter is a part of grief.  And all that you feel is OK. It’s OK to get mad. It’s OK to cry. It’s OK to feel lost. And it is OK to be happy again.  It doesn’t mean you don’t love them or that you no longer think about them. It means that as they would want you to, you have gone on living. And as long as you carry them in your heart, they are never really gone.