For those of us who have lost a loved one, Christmas can be completely overwhelming. It’s ok to feel not ok during what’s supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year.
“It’s funny how day by day nothing changes. But when you look back, everything is different.”
This quote was either said by C.S. Lewis or Calvin and Hobbes. (Seriously, there’s a real internet debate about this). Regardless of who said it first, it captures how I feel about Christmas perfectly.
Mind the Gap
Christmas is like a sign post we circle toward each year, forcing reflection on all of the ways things have changed. Holidays like Christmas are notorious for shedding light on the gaps in our lives. The empty space at the dining room table. One less Christmas card to send. A favourite dish that will never quite taste right, because a certain someone isn’t here to make it. Old traditions give way to new ones out of necessity.
The holidays can be a stark reminder of the people who once celebrated alongside us who are no longer here.
Sweet, Sad Nostalgia
Nostalgia is defined as a “wistful or excessively sentimental yearning for return to some past period or irrecoverable condition.”
That sure as hell sounds a lot like Christmas to me.
There’s a special kind of loneliness that surfaces this time of year, even when we’re surrounded by people. This is particularly true for those of us who grieve. Even the most joyful moments of the holiday season are tinged with sadness.
If you’re grieving, the pressure to follow through with family traditions while creating joyful new memories can feel like an affront. The Christmas hype can stir up complicated and sometimes conflicting emotions – A happy/sad state of being as we attempt to reconcile the life we once knew with the life we now have.
As I write this, I’m sitting in my downtown Vancouver apartment. The fireplace is on. My Christmas tree is up and decorated with ornaments I made with my mom. It smells like Douglas Fir. If I close my eyes I’m right back in my childhood home listening to Christmas Country Classics Volume 1 and eating seafood chowder.
But things are different now.
Since my mother’s death, Christmas has been a complicated balance of gratitude and longing. While I still hold space in my heart for joy and love this season, there will always be a heartsick nostalgia for what once was. A sweet sadness I’ve come to know quite well. I have gratitude for my current life and the people in it, while simultaneously longing for the magic spark of my childhood Christmases.
Now and Then
My life will always be clearly divided and labeled as “before mom’s death” and “after mom’s death.” It’s no surprise that significant loss marks our life’s chronology. Special holidays like Christmas force us to confront these divides. A marker that yet another year has somehow managed to slip by without them. A reminder that your world is different now than it was before.
For some, the world gets bigger. New relationships. Young children. Bustling homes. Full hearts. For others, the world gets smaller. Children grow up and start new traditions. Relationships fade. Loved ones die. Hearts break.
Remember that both the expansion and contraction of our world is a normal part of being alive. It’s something we’re all likely to experience at some point. There is common ground in the ups and downs of life.
Let it Hurt
If you feel sad, or lonely, or tired this holiday season, you my friend, are not alone. It’s ok if this isn’t the most wonderful time of the year for you. In fact, for most of us, it’s not.
Consider this permission to grieve this Christmas. Grieve for the beautiful things in your life that have come and gone. For the people you’ve loved and lost. For the whimsical, wistful moments of Christmases past. For the experiences, good and bad, that have marked the path to where you are today.
And through our full, unapologetic grief, may we find ourselves open enough to feel even just a hint of magic this holiday season. It’s still out there. Sadness does not preclude joy. It’s possible to feel both at once.
So, hold each other gently and with compassion over the coming days and weeks. In a way, we’re all grieving.
Happy Holidays,
Lauren
Oh and don’t forget… one day you will die.