Kathryne Hall Shackelford, my paternal grandmother, died quite young (at least in my mind) and very unexpectedly on August 20, 1961.  At the end of that month, I would turn five.  And at the end of that year, Christmas would arrive with all its festivities . . . but without one very important person.

She was Mom to us, and my grandfather was Pop.  He loved her deeply and I’m sure his grief was just as deep as that love.  And even though his daily mission was to help others navigate loss, that didn’t mean he could remain unaffected when it became a part of his own life.  As much as I’m sure he struggled privately, he was the one who sent the Christmas cards/thank you notes that year.  He had ordered them just for that occasion—a combination of good wishes for the season and gratitude for all who had supported him at her death. He was the one who continued his daily trips to the funeral home where he served as a funeral director and embalmer and manager.  And he was the one who would now be responsible for all the Christmas shopping.

I don’t know if I had asked for one or if my mother had asked on my behalf, but Thumbelina dolls were the in-demand toy that year, and it had fallen his lot, by choice or direction, to find one for me.  And he did.  But this was supposed to be a baby doll, and he wasn’t at all satisfied with the blue knit shorts and shirt that came as the standard clothing.  So, he found a woman in Bolivar who was an excellent seamstress and asked her to make a gown for him.  A beautiful white gown that looked like something an infant might wear to their christening.  And she did.  And when the time of gift-giving arrived, my Thumbelina doll was the best dressed one on the planet.

Of course, I didn’t know—or care—about any of this at the age of five.  My mother shared the particulars of his gift years later.  All I knew was I had a new doll that looked so real pretending almost wasn’t necessary.  And that Mom wasn’t there.  And she would never be there again.

It’s hard to see the holidays through the eyes of a child when Death has snatched away someone they love and they’re trying to understand without really understanding.  But it’s harder still when you’ve spent a lifetime with someone you love only to be forced to spend another lifetime without them.  Especially when the world around you is glowing with celebrations of the season that you wish you could simply fast-forward through.  My grandfather was a unique individual who may have seen his efforts that Christmas as a way to honor his wife and all she meant to our family.  And due to his chosen profession, he may have realized early on that although grief is incredibly painful and difficult to endure, especially during the holidays, it’s a part of Life and Loss and something you can’t avoid if you choose to love.  I’m also certain he knew Life doesn’t stop because your world feels like it has.  Whatever his motivations, I was blessed with a tangible reminder of his strength during Life’s uncertainties . . . and of his love for me.

About the author:  Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926.  She has been employed at Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 40 years and currently serves as the manager there.  Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone, and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.

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