I typed in the worst date in history asked the internet how long it has been since Scott and I lost our beloved daughter Bethany. Some little calculator zipped an answer before I could process my emotional reaction of finally putting our loss into print. I haven’t blogged since then.
4 years
8 months
29 days
But who’s counting?
“Apparently you are.” An oft-repeated line we repeat from a favorite family movie “Rocket Man.”
We count the days with tears. With memories. With photos. By using items we inherited when she died suddenly and unexpectedly from a brain aneurysm.
Bethany was a proud new homeowner before she was thirty. For nearly a year she repainted, replaced light fixtures, and remodeled her adorable two-bedroom home. And one night she went to bed in her little home on earth and woke up in her home in Heaven.
She filled her home and we had to empty it.
Grief begins violently like a knife thrust into the heart. Every memory of her twists the blade and carves out more pain. Nobody can remove the knife or the pain. Accepting and living through the immeasurable loss is a solitary journey for each person.
Though others cannot remove the grief, they can relieve it. Many gathered around us with kind deeds, meals, household supplies, and cards. They swooped in and held our family up. I never realized the amazing ministry of food until I was paralyzed by grief. If people hadn’t fed us, we wouldn’t have eaten. We are indebted for the healing love poured o
And as time passed, people stepped back and went on with their lives, as they needed to do.
We found we could go on. We didn’t want to. But had to.
Bethany loved holidays, and once we bought our log cabin in Montana, she spent every Christmas with us. We’d cut a tree from our property and decorate it. She swooned garland along the loft railing and placed her Dad’s massive collection of Santa candles around the home.
She started the traditions of Christmas jammies, a Christmas puzzle, and eating biscuits and gravy before opening presents.
Once our holiday ringleader insisted we drive to town in our Christmas jammies to deliver presents and have coffee and Christmas cookies with her grandparents. Another year she and Beka got up early and hid all the presents.
And each year the tree she chose was taller and taller, until ladders were needed to decorate. We’d lean over the second story loft to place the treetop star.
And then, just like that, all the light and love of Bethany was extinguished. Without warning. Without an instruction book on “How to Survive When You Lose a Beloved Child.”
And how to celebrate Christmas without her.
As parents, we purposed to not let our grief swallow us so deeply that we didn’t see and celebrate our other five children. And each process their grief in a different way. Our goal is to be there for our kids.
So our first Christmas without Bethany, Scott and I stumbled into the woods with my Grandpa Cap’s hand saw and cut down a ridiculously huge tree. Our son drove up from Bozeman to help decorate because we couldn’t face it alone. We bought and wrapped presents. Baked cookies. Decorated the entire house.
And welcomed our kids home for the First Christmas Without Bethany. We went through the motions, forcing ourselves to continue the traditions because Bethany would’ve wanted us to. We started a new tradition with a bottle of Prosecco we’d saved from her fridge. Holding high her champagne coupes, we cheered Christmas morning with a toast to our beloved daughter, sister, and friend with tears in our eyes.
I made Bethany Angel Ornaments for a special friend of Bethany’s because a few years prior, I’d crafted her a gold and pink tabletop Christmas tree with sentimental ornaments.
We made it through the first Christmas. Then the second. The third. The fourth.
Over time, our family was able to recall memories without tears, but with joy.
During these years, grandkids Bethany would’ve ADORED were added to the family and bring delight and happy chaos.
And now we’re preparing for the fifth Christmas. Scott and I cut down a ridiculously huge tree, and he’s decorating. Next, we’ll take out the Santa candles and the Christmas linens.
Cookies will be made. The pantry stocked. Presents wrapped. Stockings stuffed.
Because we’ve had
4 years
8 months
29 days
of living and celebrating without our Beloved Bethany.
UPDATE:
And because I STILL couldn’t press the PUBLISH button and express the pain of my heart it has now been
5 years
1 month
1759 days
without her.
And 254 days until the Sixth Christmas Without Bethany.
But who’s counting?
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