When Denise Crofton’s only child passed away 3 1/2 years ago, she felt as if she died with her 18-year-old daughter, Alexa. Since that tragic day in May, 1991, Crofton has found all holidays, except her daughter’s birthday, impossible to celebrate.
“Christmas was always a wonderful time for us, but without Alexa, my husband and I just can’t handle the festivities. It’s too painful,” says Crofton, 46, who moved from Orange County to San Diego after her daughter’s death.
“Even though we know Alexa would want us to celebrate, we just can’t. We don’t decorate, send out Christmas cards or go into the stores during the holidays,” she says.
Although the holiday season is supposed to be a time of joy, comfort and fellowship with loved ones, it can be an emotionally difficult time for individuals who have lost a loved one, says Costa Mesa marriage, family, child counselor Elizabeth Slocum.
“People are acutely aware of the fact that they no longer buy a present for the deceased person and that there is an empty chair at the dinner table,” she says, adding that holidays trigger feelings of grief and loss.How deeply the loss is felt during the holiday season depends on a number of things, including who the loved one was, how he or she died and how far along a person is in the grieving process.
“The bereavement process is often more difficult for the person who lost a loved one suddenly, and if the deceased is his or her child. That can take a lifetime to get over,” says Slocum. “Every Christmas, parents can’t help but think of what could have been.”
Denise Crofton says that it’s too painful to think about what life could have been like for her pretty, athletic, outgoing daughter. “When we see babies, it kills us to know that we’ll never be grandparents and our daughter will never be married,” she says. “It’s very difficult to think about, so we try not to.”
The Croftons find the holiday season as painful today as it was the first November and December they spent without her.
“Our first Thanksgiving we went to a coffee shop at 4 in the afternoon for turkey, dressed in terrible, dirty sweats. That first Christmas we drove through the Pacific Northwest and spent Christmas morning in a hotel room holding onto each other and crying,” she says.
Subsequent holidays haven’t been any easier for the Croftons. “We thought the pain would soften, but it hasn’t,” she says.
Crofton’s daughter, Alexa, was found to have incurable adrenal cancer in late January, 1991, and died less than four months later at St. Joseph Hospital in Orange. Although she had been suffering from a variety of symptoms since her senior year in high school, doctors didn’t diagnose her condition until she became seriously ill and returned home during her first year at college in Indiana.
By the time doctors removed the tumor in her left adrenal gland, the cancer had spread throughout her body. Despite doubts, she did survive surgery and spent the next few weeks in and out of the hospital until she told her mother she loved her and died in her father’s arms May 27, 1991.
Since their daughter’s death, the Croftons have received many invitations to friends’ houses for the holidays, but they always decline.
“It is too difficult for us to celebrate the holidays,” says John Crofton, 54, who retired in 1985 from an executive position with a fast-food restaurant chain to spend more time with his daughter.
“The void is tremendous,” he says. “We had it so good and now we can’t have it, so why bother watching another family celebrate? I suppose there’s a little bit of jealousy involved.”
John Crofton looks back fondly on their last Christmas together, which was a little more than a month before Alexa’s cancer was diagnosed.“We normally open presents in the morning with the entire extended family, but that particular Christmas we decided to open them on Christmas Eve, just the three of us. Alexa really enjoyed that,” he says.
Although they won’t celebrate, remembering their daughter during the holiday season is important to the Croftons.
“We talk about Alexa and the good times we shared,” says John Crofton. “Whenever something triggers a memory, we’ll share it with each other and other people. We are very open to hearing from her friends as well.”
People who have lost someone like to talk about the person and like others to mention him or her, says Denise Crofton.
“I love it when people say her name,” she says. “The more people mention Alexa and talk about her, the more therapeutic it is for me. The absolute worst would be if she was forgotten.”
Thirty friends visited Alexa in the hospital the day before she died and there were 750 to 800 people at her funeral. Even though she’d only attended college in Indiana for one semester, 100 people showed up at her memorial service there.
