Christmas: Cheer or Drear?

Chances are that you know someone who will be grieving their way through the holidays. Someone is missing, and all that’s left are memories. Keep this in mind: If you’re inviting a griever to your gathering, remember that you’re inviting their grief to attend also. It will be there.

It’s so natural to be tongue-tied around grievers. We want to offer comfort, and our intentions are always good, but sometimes instead of offering comfort we retreat into our own feelings of discomfort, fear, or anxiety.

Or maybe we don’t exactly retreat, but without realizing it we distance ourselves even as we think we’re offering comfort. There are lots of ways to hold grievers at arms’ length. Sadly, some of those look and even sound very “spiritual” but can actually be quite damaging, even including quoting scripture at them. Usually this sounds like guilt and shame to them and surely that’s the last thing we intend.

A word of advice: DON’T OFFER ADVICE. Truly, I have absolutely no standing to advise anyone about their grief.

I asked a few friends who have had significant losses these two questions:

• What do you wish people knew?
• How are you feeling leading into the holidays?

A friend who lost her husband many years ago said, “It has been a long time. He has been gone longer than I knew him. I do ok now. But he lives in my heart every single day.”

A dear lady whose husband of 58 years died wrote this:

I think sometimes we do not realize how important it is to stay in touch with a widow. They need a good support system. A card, a phone call, a listening ear, or lunch can mean so much. I have been so blessed with the support system of my family and friends. My children have been here every week to make sure I have food and any other thing I need. Their surrounding love has helped me get through the “firsts” – the first birthday after, the first Thanksgiving after.  I have those who are walking with me, but what about those widows who are not that fortunate? My heart goes out to them.

Another friend said, “I love when our daughter’s name is mentioned and notes of remembrance of special times are sent. Those are like gold to our family and especially me.”

I believe that the best way that I can be a helper is by continuing to reach out to them, even when I don’t understand their grief, even when I don’t get a response. Or if I get an unexpected response. By truly accepting the way their grief is coming out, or not coming out. Remember that our expectations of what their grief should look like may be completely disconnected from their reality.

Some parts of grief must take place in solitude though … and that’s up to my grieving friend to decide. Sometimes she does need solitary space. And sometimes she needs ME.

So spend time with them if you can, and keep reaching out when you can’t. Most importantly, LISTEN. Even if they don’t talk. Even if they only cry. Or sit there staring. Listen to what they are saying. Hear what they’re not saying. Tune in to them, instead of tuning into your own natural desire to “fix” this or somehow make it better for them. You can’t.

A friend who has lost two children said:

The grief is there, even when I’m smiling; acknowledge my grief – say their name; my tears are an invitation to sit quietly/silently next to me – resist the urge of trying to say something to make it better> Even a hug, or “I remember too,” might be all I need.

No matter how long it’s been, there’s always an empty stocking, always an empty chair. Think of all the traditions altered – the family pictures smaller, maybe a favorite recipe or movie that sends a griever reeling. Tsunamis of grief that seem to come out of nowhere.  

Most prepare themselves as best as they can, knowing what is likely to come. They often pre-grieve the event – perhaps the two weeks leading up to it have been so very hard, but the event itself turns out to be less painful than expected. I asked my friends how they are feeling leading into the holidays, and these are some of their responses:

• Leading up to the holidays? It varies day to day: anxiety, sadness, tears, numbness, lament, resignation, “girding my heart” in preparation for the inevitable sense of loss and needing to hide behind my fake happy face so that I don’t ruin everyone’s happiness.

• I am feeling sad, nervous, afraid that the deeper grief could return like when I had first received the news of her death. I am afraid of going backwards on my grief journey. I am afraid of the memories (good and bad) that could come up. I am nervous about finding personal handmade ornaments that she had made over the years, and memories of her in all the Christmas boxes. I am fearful about taking off the lids of the Christmas storage bins. I am starting to cry, just writing this.

• I am very much looking forward to celebrating Christmas with my family. There will always be an element of sadness, and perhaps a tear or two in my heart for the loss of my sweetheart in that he is not here to share in the hugs, laughter, and kisses with me. But for me, Christmas tells of a hope and joy that man cannot achieve by himself – the hope of heaven. This makes the sadness bearable, knowing it is for only a little while and I will laugh with him again. And family – Oh! How precious it is to share your heart with them in such a time as this.

Everyone has experienced grief, big or small. Pain is pain, grief is grief. Yes of course, some kinds of grief are more complicated than others, and that’s often when we say, “I can’t imagine what it’s like … what you’re going through.”

I will leave you with this challenge: PLEASE TRY. Try to imagine the griever’s pain, dismay, disillusionment, hopelessness … and also their relief, their joy, their peace, when those feelings come. Let us help our loved ones find a place to sit and rest, and then stay with them. By just being with them and loving them right where they are, we can help carry them through the holidays.

Please try.

Love, Angie