 Photo by Steve Fotter
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Grief & the Holidays
by Alexandra Kennedy
The holidays are a stressful time for families. Family gatherings are more frequent, expectations high for harmonious interaction. In spite of hopes and good intentions, there are inevitable tensions, fights, miscommunications. Often this is a time of disappointment, disillusionment, and depression as the realities of family interaction are confronted.
The situation is made even more stressful when a family member has died. As families come together, the reality and finality of the loss is painfully accentuated. The holidays, abounding in family memories and traditions, can activate and intensify grief, even years later. The loneliness can be excruciating. Many share that this time of the year is one of the most difficult to go through, particularly in the first years following the death. This is pronounced when a loved one was ill or died during the holidays.
Three years ago, two weeks before Thanksgiving, I received a message from my mother on my answering machine: "Dad has cancer all through his bones. We just heard from the doctor. Don't call back because Dad doesn't want anyone to know." These words of my mother on my answering machine on a cold day in November initiated an often painful and sometimes wondrous journey through grief. As with most people confronting the loss of a parent, I was not prepared for the intensity of the feelings that surged through me. I felt stunned, raw, overcome with panic. My father had advanced cancer! With this news I approached the holidays with anticipation and dread. I realized that this could be my last Thanksgiving and Christmas with him.
By Thanksgiving, my father knew that I knew about his illness. Even though he would not talk about it, we all knew that, barring some miracle, this would be his last Thanksgiving with us. My mother wanted it to be a perfect day. She carefully cooked all the foods she knew he loved: the creamed onions, cranberries, tender peas. She meticulously basted the turkey and prepared the gravy that had been the source of many fights on Thanksgiving in past years. And she set the table with white spode china and sparkling silver. When my husband, five-year-old son and I arrived, we felt the tension. My mother snapped at me in the kitchen, angry that my son was being rambunctious.
As we sat down for our meal, my father, showing no signs of the pain that I knew he was feeling, said grace, giving thanks and remembering all the grandparents who had died. Then he paused and said quietly, "Lord, we all pray for the love, strength, and courage we all may need in the coming months." Relieved that Dad had acknowledged this crisis in our family, my eyes filled with tears.
The next month was much more intense than I could ever have anticipated. Everyday my mother called with a new crisis and my stomach knotted whenever the phone rang. By Christmas Dad could no longer sit, for the cancer had eaten into the vertebrae in his back. He lay on the white sofa in my parents' living room, a cream-colored afghan I had crocheted over his lap. I suffered in his presence, knowing the pain he was in. We went through the family ritual of lighting a fire, eating pastry, playing Christmas music, opening gifts, as we always had. My father insisted, as he did every Christmas that the wrappings not be thrown in the fireplace; years before, the wrappings had caused a chimney fire on Christmas Eve.
Every gesture; every word of this last Christmas became fraught with significance. I had spent weeks agonizing over special gifts for Dad, gifts that would help him through the coming months. I gave him photographs, books, tapes and large furry bear slippers. He laughed when he put them on, for they looked just like bear's paws. I was saddened when I realized that my father had not picked out a gift for me, leaving my mother to do this, as he usually did. I wanted to break down with him, share my grief and fear of losing him. I felt great sadness that we had been so distant with so much love flowing beneath. I had longed for years to spend some special time with him, but now our time and our holidays together were running out-soon there would be no more opportunities for healing old wounds, expressing our love.
Two months later, after a short time in the hospital, my father was dead. In the following weeks I felt cut adrift on a dark sea. The tides of grief moved through me, feelings of anger, sadness, loneliness, despondency and joy often bowling me over with their intensity. It was frightening to feel so out of control.
When the holidays came around again, I sank into a deep depression. Agonizing images of my father dying surfaced regularly. I dreaded these first holidays without my father. I did not want to sit at my parents' dining table, with Dad's empty seat. I suggested to my mother that we create new rituals for the holidays, proposing a hike and picnic on Mt. Tamalpais instead of the midday meal. My mother shared my feelings- she expressed how lonely she felt without my father during the holidays. She turned to me to fill that empty space in her life, which created tensions between us.
It rained that Thanksgiving, so my mother joined us at a gathering of my husband's relatives. It was a sad and awkward day. Several times I burst into tears. Even surrounded by family I felt lonely. It helped to share what I was feeling.
Two years later, as I approach the holidays, sadness still wells up at times. I miss my father's presence. But now the grief has hollowed out the space for joy. I treasure the special and ordinary moments with my family and friends. As Kahlil Gibran wrote "the deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain... When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find that it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy." (p.35, The Prophet)
It is difficult to grieve when other people are celebrating and going to parties. However, where society does not support us in our grieving, nature does. Winter is a natural time for grieving. As the life force retreats within and darkness predominates, nature seems to remind us to turn our attention within, move into the darkness and to let go. Don't attempt to postpone your grief until after the holidays. The potential for healing is great during this time, with so much brought to the surface. You probably will only complicate the situation in suppressing it, since the forces at work are greater than willpower. The suppressed grief during one holiday will most likely rise up to be met again the next holiday.
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The following suggestions may help you during the holidays:
- Acknowledge that this is a difficult time. Be gentle and patient with yourself. Intense feelings may surface. Give yourself permission to feel depressed, angry, sad, lonely. The first holidays after a loved one's death are often the hardest. Don't pressure yourself to get back to normal.
- Protect yourself if you are feeling raw and vulnerable. Avoid situations that stress or upset you. Listen carefully to your body's needs for rest, good food and exercise. You may need to curtail outside commitments. Be willing to say no.
- Take some time (ten minutes to an hour) each day to retreat to a special place in your home and reflect. You may want to pray, contemplate or write. Allowing the memories to surface, take some time to remember your loved one. You may want to explore any unresolved feelings, perhaps disappointments or wounds from past holidays. Use this time to clarify how you can best take care of yourself that day.
- Acknowledge your loved one in some way during the holidays. A friend shared how she lit candles at midnight mass for her dead father. Another offered a toast to his wife. Another gave herself a gift she felt her mother would have given her.
- Seek out the company of friends and family who are understanding and supportive of what you are going through. Respect as well your need to be alone at times.
- Explore new ways to celebrate the holidays, planning activities that are enjoyable and meaningful. This is an opportunity to re-evaluate what is important for you in the holidays.
Alexandra Kennedy is a psychotherapist in
private practice in Soquel, California, and
author of Your Loved One Lives On Within You
(Berkley, 1997), Losing a Parent (HarperCollins, 1991),
and The Infinite Thread (Beyond Words Publishing Co, 2001).
from New Dimensions, Autumn 1992