My Black is NOT Cracking.

“And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief.”  William Cullen Bryant

I received my first and possibly only Christmas gift in the mail. (Don’t worry. I could care less. Unless someone wants to buy my new roof!) My good friend sent me a book on grieving entitled “Grieving is Loving. Compassionate words for Bearing the Unbearable.” By Joanne Cacciatore, Ph.D.  I’ve quoted from the book a few times in this post and highly recommend it for anyone experiencing grief this holiday season. (Hopefully, Joanne won’t mind!)

Believe it or not, it was the perfect gift.  And by the way, never ask a grieving person what they want for Christmas.  You know the answer.  They want their loved ones returned to them.

But real talk, the only thing you really want for the first Christmas without your loved one is for it to be over.  Holidays center around family, which under normal circumstances is a wonderful thing.  But nothing about these circumstances is normal. 

“For many, when someone we love deeply dies, life is not normal-not yesterday, not today, and not tomorrow. Life is forever changed.”

There will be an empty seat at the table.  The person that would normally annoy the living hell out of me by eating my lovingly prepared gourmet meal out of a plastic take-out container won’t be there.  No idea what that girl’s issues were with plates.  I wonder what a plate ever did to her. 

Her grandpop, (one of several) said to me recently, “I miss her asking me to do shit I didn’t want to do.”  We miss the texts that just said, “mom mom.” Or “pop pop,” or “Yo Debs,” and then nothing.  You just sat there waiting for the other shoe to drop!  You thought to yourself, “What’s this going to cost me?” How far do I have to drive?” He was right.  We all miss her asking us to do shit we didn’t want to do, that after she went through her “ask-a-dex,” one of us would inevitably end up doing. (Often Debs!)

One of her other grandmoms texted me a few days ago that she too was sad.  She was thinking about how much she missed the last-minute Christmas list.  We all miss her, and the holidays seem to just amplify that pain and that absence.  Beneath the rare glimpse of our smiles lies much pain. We miss her every moment, of every hour, of every day, week, and month that has unfolded since June 4^th.

A year ago, this past weekend, her mom and I just followed her around the Nike and Adidas stores in NYC whipping out cards when summoned.  Shopping was followed by taking in all the holiday festivities in the city, and then “snot bubble” laughter over Italian Food. For me, it was one of the happiest holiday memories ever.  I will cherish it forever.  I loved spending time with my two favorite girls, and I’ve been a Christmas geek my entire life.

I started thinking about just how many people are sadly sharing this experience with us.  I thought about the countless number of people who had empty seats for the past two years of holidays because of Covid.  I’m thinking about the empty seats at the tables of the families of those slain college students, and the empty seats of the families of the victims of the nightclub shooting in Denver. I’m thinking about the numerous people of Ukraine who lost some, or even all their family as a result of another stupid ass war. (I have said for many years, greed would destroy the world.) I wonder how those families are holding up.  How do they get out of bed?  Are they keeping wineries in business too? Did they put up a Christmas tree only to see it sit naked for a week because, who cares?

I read this statement in the book and it holds a lot of truth.  “Usually, the world pays no attention to death until it’s personal.”

Well, it’s personal.  And grief is such a lonely place.  I personally have found that is important to surround yourself and keep close to those that know this place and space.  They share this space.  You can lean on each other.  You can share not only the love but the pain that only they may understand.   

Well-meaning friends may even just try to avoid you. I feel that. I understand that.  I feel the dark cloud I’ve been surrounded by, and the truth is, I avoid them as well.  Even through texts, you feel the pressure to move on.  Your pain makes them uncomfortable.  They just don’t understand.  And when folks tell me they can imagine what I must be going through, I often tell them, “No you can’t, and to be grateful for that!”  Not only do I get to experience my own grief, I get to witness my daughter’s pain. (Which often is worse.)  I love my kid and like any parent, you never want to see your children in pain and suffering.  Nursing her back from MS was easy.  But there are no supplements, dietary changes, or exercise that will take away the pain of this loss. (Although, it is a fact that exercise and diet can have a positive effect on mental health, mood, and energy, as well as reduce stress.) All I can do is be there; hug her and listen when she feels like talking. FOR AS LONG AS IT TAKES.

These three passages from the book put into words my exact thoughts:

“When others bypass, dismiss, ignore, minimize, and shame our grief it exaggerates the distance between us and them, between those suffering and those not suffering.”

“Please just sit beside me. Say nothing.  Do not offer a cure.  Or a pill, or a word, or a potion. Witness my suffering and do not turn away from me. Please be gentle with me.”

“Don’t tell me God has a plan for me. Don’t tell me what’s right or wrong.  I’m doing it my way, in my time.”

Seriously, I get it!  People lose patience with you.  But the truth is that the unpleasant journey through grief takes time.  And most likely we will grieve on some level for the rest of our lives.

But here’s the deal. Whether painful or pleasant, experiences should teach us something.  In this case, I think compassion is the lesson. It has been for me.  I find myself thinking about others more often. 

Even outside of our circle, we are not alone.  People all over the world are experiencing loss and grief this holiday season.  Think of them.  Send them love.  And then realize how fortunate you are if you are not one of those people.  Give yourself the gift of compassion.