Without a clue how to even begin to get through Christmas without Deacon, we left. We told our families that while we were not trying to avoid them, or even Christmas really (bc with four children we couldn’t even if we wanted to), but that we couldn’t do our traditions and gatherings as normal so soon after losing Deacon.
We ended up in Crested Butte, Colorado. In a sweet little place, on the loveliest of mountains, with family joining us just down the street. We played in more snow than the kids had ever seen in all the Kansas snow days combined, decorated cookies, played hours of games, made a gingerbread village, ate lots, and even managed to teach four kids to ski. It was exactly what we needed. It was good. It was hard.
This run with the girls was so full of emotion. Long, beautiful stretches where it felt we were the only ones on the mountain. At one point I could picture Deacon so clearly skiing there with us. How much he would have loved it and the shouts of joy he would have been letting out. It made me start to cry (not recommended flying down a mountain with goggles on). But also, there was a moment when I looked at my new smaller family, fighting for joy and normal and unity, and thought, “Ok. We can do this.” Yes, we’ve been shattered to dust. But God does his work here. He’s the potter and he’ll add some water, begin to reform, and made us something new.
Overall, leaving for Christmas was the right choice for us. There were tears (I tried to keep them to showers and the middle of the night), but mostly I tried to stay present. Christmas Day had sadness. But we’re sad every day. We woke up the 26th and he was still gone. We were still sad. But I also think this week showed our kids that we will fight to give them a childhood not marked solely by grief.
Claassen Clan 