View From a Prairie Home

by Hege Hernfindahl, Columnist

I hope you will excuse an old woman. But last week, the week before Christmas when I always write about the various ways one can celebrate and the reason for this, I was confused. You see, because I need time to edit my columns, I always write two weeks before they are published. Because for me, editing takes time and also my columns need time to just sit before I reread them and decide whether they are ready. And it never occurred to me that my Christmas columns would be about the right and privilege of being able to vote.

So here I am, one week before Christmas and two before New Year’s thinking that maybe that was an ok thing. Christmas is hard if you just lost someone and I have decided a long time ago, not to write my normal Christmas card with pictures of my perfect family that used to be 16 but now only has 14 members. Two young men missing. But, of course, many remaining people for which I am so grateful. And what would I write? That I am happy that other people are happy, but I am sad? Not appropriate.

But then, looking back on 2022. What to write? That it was a year of cancer, a short period where we all thought that was behind us and then, a fast descending into death of a young person with so much to live for?  And then, a new year without him?

You all must be pretty tired of reading another column about grief. There is more to life. But for me, that is life now. And there is no time limit on grief. You don’t get over it. You must just live with it. Forever. The loss of a child. My child.

But beside the grief. Beside the hole in my heart. There are other things in life. Two grandchildren in college. Who are trying out their wings. The scary (for parents and grandparents) part of letting go of a child. And they are both doing well. Which makes me so very happy. To see these young men succeed. To be able to leave the familiar behind and embark on something totally new. Both without fathers. Maybe that has made them stronger. I hope so. I almost can’t believe that we actually have good news in our devastated family. And I must admit I am holding my breath. It seems too good to be true. They are actually doing well. Having friends (one of them even has a very serious girlfriend, whom we all love) and also getting good grades.  Despite having just lost their fathers. Maybe there is a future for us after all.

And my youngest grandson, who at 11 found his father dead on our driveway. When I was having one of my crying spells, he came and held me. And said that he always would be there for me. He is now 13 and recently went with his mom and his aunt, both of whom have lost their husbands, and cut down Christmas trees for them. Who lifted the trees with his cousin and carried them to their cars. Who went to school earlier this year and asked permission to make pizzas from scratch for all the teachers at his middle school during a teacher workshop day.

And friends who call or text or come over. Who listen and send cards and hug me. Who invite me to parties and plays. And all the other kind people around us. And for our old farmhouse with its warmth and lights. And for my dear husband, who is also grieving heavily but still holds me when I cry or when all blood rushes from my head and I get dizzy with grief. And for God’s beautiful nature, now pristine with its white blanket of snow.

God bless you as you contemplate the old and welcome the future with all the (hopefully) good news it will hold.