Light a Candle

Shackelford Funeral Directors • December 24, 2015

It’s Christmas Eve. How did that even happen? I know when I woke up yesterday it was sometime in March . . . April at the latest. The decorations may be up and most of the presents wrapped (most by my definition is approximately half) but what happened to the time and the relaxed enjoyment of the season? (That last part should be read with a heavy dose of sarcasm.)

I know everyone’s time is limited since this is probably the busiest day of the year, especially for those of us who specialize in procrastination, so I’ll try my best to get to the point. Christmas Day is Friday. Not a grand revelation, I know. But for a lot of folks it’s a day to dread because the joy of the season is buried in a cemetery somewhere and they haven’t figured out how to get it back. They don’t feel like being happy. They don’t care about the decorations or the gifts or the hustle and bustle. They only want one thing for Christmas—and it’s the one thing they will never be able to have again.

So when Christmas morning dawns—or sometime shortly thereafter—and you find yourself longing for the presence of someone dear but no longer near, light a candle in their honor. Don’t be afraid to say their name. Don’t be ashamed to cry. Find something that was special to them and hold it close and know that they will always be with you in spirit. That thought may be of little consolation when the pain is fresh but it will mean the world later on. They touched your life in ways no one else ever will—and took a part of you with them when they left. That kind of loss cannot and should not be ignored, especially now—and denying it will not lessen the pain; it will only prolong it. Love so deep and abiding should always be remembered and cherished.

For those of you struggling this day, I hope you have found some peace in the beauty of the season, some quiet place away from the rush and the chaos. My wish for you this Christmas is one moment of joy, one moment of grateful reflection, a glimmer of hope that the future holds brighter, easier days, and the knowledge that, despite the pain, you were truly blessed to have loved and been loved so greatly.

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