Just the thought of unpacking the Christmas decorations sent me into a panicked sweat. To this day I can see Lou’s smiling face as he took the lights from me. I was “not allowed” to put them away in my haphazard manner. Lou loved the process of organizing pretty much anything, and Christmas lights were always methodically recoiled so as to be smoothly used next year.
I couldn’t open that box, or hang our ornaments. I didn’t even want to get a tree at all, but of course our four sweet young kids deserved the happiest Christmas available to them. Of course they would have a tree and presents.
Typically Lou and I wrapped our kids’ gifts together. How was I supposed to get through wrapping them alone?
I hated everything.
I hated everyone.
I hated my life.
And I really hated Christmas.
There was nothing anyone could do to change that. But some people surely did their best to try.
While I fled to the Arizona mountains for Thanksgiving, my brother-in-law unpacked those decorations and decorated the tree with the kids.
My sister-in-law came over to help me wrap the gifts.
My family did not protest when I showed up late and left early.
And I made it through.
I was so grateful to everyone who just allowed me the room to breathe and get through whatever way I could.
That space and that grace is the best thing you can give to someone you know, who is grieving during the holidays.
Don’t let their smiles and good cheer fool you. The moment they are alone they will shed a river of tears that’s damming up behind that smile.
If it’s a spouse that’s passed, the gift you give someone might be the only gift they get with their name on it this year. It won’t matter what it is. It will only matter that, after shopping, wrapping, and giving gifts to others, they have not been forgotten.
No matter who someone is grieving, the simple act of showing up will be a gift. Show up to help them wrap presents. Show up to sit in their kitchen and have a cup of coffee with them. Show up long after the holidays pass, and silence descends again.
I know people this year who are spending their last precious moments with a cherished mother. I know someone whose mother just passed. I know someone else whose husband died suddenly last year on December 26th, and now faces not just her first Christmas but the first awful anniversary of that event.
And I am someone who, although abundantly blessed, will always have to work to embrace the Christmas spirit.
Two things can be true: I can be profoundly grateful for my life today, and the people in it, and I can still acknowledge my own grief for the husband I lost and the life we planned, that was lost with him.
I can enjoy the holidays and dread them at the same time.
The more time that passes, the more people forget that - that grief remains. They no longer understand why you may feel pockets of sadness, or breathe a sigh of relief when January 1st rolls in.
I didn’t understand either. Until grief became a part of my life.
If you are grieving this year - be it a fresh grief or a longstanding grief, I hope people in your life show you the grace so many have shown me. I hope someone speaks the name of the person you miss. Shares a memory. Acknowledges their place in your life.
And if you are wondering how you can help someone who is grieving, I hope this article helps.
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