My father-in-law shook me awake on the morning of a Dec. 23 that I will never forget. “Bill,” he said, “your mother just called…”
I didn’t realize that it was about 2 a.m., but I knew it wasn’t the time for a casual phone call. Even in my groggy state, I assumed something was wrong with my dad. I thought to myself, “I hope he’s in the hospital.”
But then Kathy’s father resumed speaking, using a gentle tone but delivering a dreadful message: “Your father passed away about an hour ago.” With those words, I entered into a chapter of my life that I will certainly never forget. Somehow, I would need to deal with the unspeakable and untimely loss of my 60-year-old father. And I would need to begin processing my grief while folks around me were celebrating the birth of a Savior and/or the arrival of a Santa.
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For lots of folks, winter holidays like Christmas, Hanukkah and New Year’s are just not what they’re cracked up to be. Those of us who have lost a loved one during this time may associate grief with that holiday for many years. Others may have lost a loved one at another time of the year, but the holidays bring back happy memories—and a woeful yearning to relive those times. Others may feel stressed by holiday time demands or holiday financial demands. To them, the season means joy to someone else’s world. “Santa Claus should just get lost,” they may be thinking, “and don’t bother me with your jingle bells or your figgy pudding.”
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It was an unforgettable ride as Kathy and I drove from her hometown of Maplewood, N.J. to my parents’ State College home on that fateful morning in 1978. We had planned to spend two more days with her family and then drive to Happy Valley on Christmas afternoon to see my folks. Now, as we traveled the intended route with a radically different reason, I felt an inner gloom that matched the pre-dawn darkness of Interstate 80. Even more, I felt shock. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. My dad was only 60 years old. And nothing related to death had a place in my dreams for Christmas.
When we arrived at the little Martin Terrace home where I grew up, denial turned into a sharper type of emotion. My brother, Bob, came outside to give me a hug unlike any that I had ever experienced — a moment of unlimited grief. We both thought our Dad was the greatest guy on earth, and neither of us had a clue of how we could fill the void that his death created. As Bob put it recently, “He was a good friend to us in addition to being a father.”
INSTANT END TO 37-YEAR MARRIAGE
After a few sad moments with Bob, I went inside to see my mom. I realized that it had been less than 12 hours since she and Dad had gone to a holiday party — and then he had collapsed with a major heart attack upon their return. How would she deal with this instant end to a 37-year marriage?
Mom was overwhelmed, of course, and deeply shaken by the suddenness of Dad’s passing. I was not surprised by her plentiful tears and expressions of shock and dismay. But then, the next afternoon — which was Christmas Eve — she amazed me by her capacity to thoughtfully discuss funeral arrangements with our pastor, Rev. Dale Bringman, and with the funeral director, Glenn Fleming, who is still serving in leadership with Koch Funeral Home.
Asked about burial arrangements, she expressed her preferences and then put such questions in their proper context. “We know that’s not him,” she said. “It’s his body. He is in heaven with the Lord.” Simple but powerful words from a woman who had just become a widow one day earlier. (Mom was to spend 32 years in widowhood, passing away in 2010.)
The author’s parents, Marty and Mary Lou Horlacher, on their wedding day in 1941.
GIFTS FROM DEPARTED FATHER
So then Christmas Day arrived, and we decided that, somehow, life must go on. So we sat around the Christmas tree and opened gifts — a thrilling little ritual that now felt hollow. Some of my memories have faded over the years, but I will never forget the experience of opening presents from Dad. Nor will I will ever forget the experience of watching Mom open one particular gift from him — a beautiful red sweater. I know she prized it as her last present from Dad, yet I’m quite sure she never wore it. There was just too much pain associated with that sweater.
The funeral took place on Dec. 26 at Grace Lutheran Church. These days, that worship facility is referred to as “The Dorito Church,” an apt nickname for a sanctuary with a unique shape that is located in a college town. But the name had not been created in 1978, and I suspect the humor would have escaped me that particular day.
That’s not to say the funeral was somber. Far from it. A strong theme of faith was sounded that day as Pastor Bringman described Dad’s spiritual growth over the preceding three years. Church analysts will tell you that most people don’t grow dramatically in faith during their 40s and 50s, but Dad participated in the intensive Bethel Bible Series, and he had truly come to love the Lord as he encountered the rich truths of the Old and New Testaments.
Pastor Bringman, himself now deceased, read a variety of scripture passages that Dad had underlined in his Bible — John 14:1-6, John 5:24 and of course, that MVP of all Bible verses, John 3:16.
AMAZING RESPONSE TO “AMAZING GRACE”
Then we came to the moment in the service that was truly pivotal for me. Accompanied by the church’s thundering pipe organ, the entire gathering joined in singing the hymn, “Amazing Grace.” As we sang such simple words as, “I once was lost, but now am found; was blind but now I see,” I sensed a deep and rather unique experience of faith.
What was so unique? At the same moment, I was feeling a deep, deep sorrow and a wonderful, soaring joy. How unusual it was to experience those feelings at one time. I realized that I was equally in touch with the pain of my Dad’s death and the power of Jesus’ victory over death. And so my heart made room for them both, like a lion and lamb lying down together.
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Some would say that losing a loved one at Christmastime is something that “ruins the holiday.” I get that thought, although I would phrase it differently. Bereavement has its place in our lives, and it certainly doesn’t fit with many of our Christmas traditions. So we truly must give ourselves the freedom to opt out of various holiday gatherings while grieving.
Nearly 40 years after Dad passed away, I still feel moments of sadness when a Christmas activity — especially a family gathering — triggers a memory of him. It makes me very sad to realize that Dad never met three of his five grandchildren or any of his growing number of great-grandchildren.
Meanwhile, our family faced a second round of Christmas sorrow when Mom passed away on Dec. 27, 2010. Her death came at the advanced age of 89, and her health had been declining steadily. There was no shock over her passing, yet it brought another round of mourning while others were celebrating.
Of course, I wish I knew much less about dealing with death during the holiday season. But there’s no way that I would say Christmas is somehow “ruined” when a death takes place. To believe that is to deny the original meaning of the holiday. If, as Jesus said repeatedly, he came to the Earth to unite us with his Father and give us eternal life, then a December death is a powerful — though sad — reminder of the real deal behind Christmas.
It took a few years after Dad’s death and another few years after Mom’s death before I could sing any fa-la-la-la-las in December. But there were many carols that grew in meaning for me, and I never had a problem singing them with joy. Like this one: “Hark! The herald angels sing, ‘Glory to the newborn King; Peace on earth, and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled!’”
