Three ways to honour your grief over the holidays
I’m heading into my fifth holiday season without my son, Tristan. He died just over four years ago, from addiction and a toxic drug supply. I’d like to say it still hurts, but that’s not quite right. It still crushes me. And I sweep up the pieces and hold them together as best I can as I walk through the season. I try to find enjoyment and connection where I can, and I do. I enjoy my family at Christmas, tremendously, and yet it still feels so damned hard. But it’s easier than it was the first few years. And that ease is, in large part, because I’ve learned to honour and accept my grief, rather than deny or repress it.
Everyone’s grief is different, and how you need to honour and express it will be as unique as you are. But here are three things that have been helpful for me.
Surrender to your grief
By this, I don’t mean to give up. Quite the opposite. I simply mean to acknowledge that this year will be different than the years before your loved one died. Grief is with you, in you, and of you, and you can’t pretend that it isn’t. Your grief has its own needs: it may need to cry, or sleep, or be alone. It may need to be with family, or flip through old photo albums, or eat all the cookies, or zone out with Netflix. It may need to create new Christmas traditions, or hold fast to old ones, or take a break from Christmas altogether.
Surrendering to your grief gives yourself permission to pay attention to your needs this year. To not do things just because they’re expected of you. To not have expectations of yourself that aren’t good for you this year. If you feel like doing holiday things, go do them. If they involve other people, have an escape plan so you can come home early if you need to. Don’t feel bad about cancelling if you change your mind or just aren’t up to it. And if you don’t feel like doing holiday things this year, then don’t.
Pay attention to which people feel good to you right now, and which ones don’t. You may choose to spend time with people who share stories of your loved one, or help you get caught up on laundry, or just sit with you in silence. And you may choose not to spend time with dear, dear friends who can’t stop talking about how their son is doing so well in college (when yours is dead), or who’s frustrated with their husband for taking too long to put up the tree (when yours is dead). That’s okay. Tell whoever you need to that you’re gifting yourself with some alone time this holiday season.
Include your loved one in new traditions
Holidays and special days are particularly hard because this is when we come together for family traditions and rituals, like baking cookies or cooking meals, putting up decorations, gathering with extended family, opening gifts. And the absence of your loved one may be shattering. Associations are key here. If you associate your loved one closely with the holidays, and the things and events that are part of your usual celebrations, then every candle and every cookie can feel like a spear through your heart. If you choose to participate in the holidays this year, then it will be helpful to start some new traditions and rituals. Here are some ideas:
Buy decorations in honour of your loved one, and display them prominently.
Buy your loved one gifts, as you normally would, and then donate them to someone in need. Or have each family member bring a stocking stuffer for your loved one, and then distribute them around to others.
Set a place at the table for them, and know that they’re with you in spirit as you eat your meal.
Light a candle and place it next to a photo of them. Add holiday decorations.
Make your loved one’s favourite holiday baking, and share their memories as well as the treats.
Start a new tradition of visiting your loved one’s gravesite, or other meaningful location, as part of your holiday celebrations.
Have each family member share a memory of your loved one, or make a toast in their honour before you eat your meal.
Have a bowl of stones with intentions written on them, such as gratitude, peace, love, etc. Have each family member choose a stone randomly, and let that intention be your loved one’s gift to them for the coming year.
Most of all, say their name. Say it out loud. Share memories with other people. They may be gone from this world, but they are very much alive and loved in your heart. Embrace that. Share that.
Keep one foot in both worlds
I recently interviewed George Passmore, a registered clinical counsellor, about ways to honour our grief over the holidays. He shared a wonderful piece of advice he received after his brother died by suicide: to keep one foot in both worlds. On the one hand, we need to spend time with our loved one and with our grief: to look through old photos, journal our thoughts and feelings, share stories, cry or just stare out the window. We need to mourn. This is not a temporary thing, but—for many of us—a new way of life. It’s important that we take time to spend with our loved one who’s no longer here. Over the holidays, that need is even more important.
But it’s equally important to take time away from our grief, and do things that bring us into the world of the living. We are still here and, as much as we’re able, we deserve to find joy and peace and happiness. Early on, moments of reprieve may be all that’s realistic. Through most of the year, we can explore ideas like sports, or dancing, or joining a choir, or digging into our work. Over the holidays, it’s trickier, but many people find solace in volunteering. Playing with my granddaughter and hearing her laugh is a balm for my soul. Anything that gets you out of your head, and away from things that trigger memories of your loved one can be helpful.
The first Christmas after Tristan died, I only accepted one invitation outside of my immediate family and that was to spend an evening with a friend who I rarely saw more than once or twice a year. He invited me over to decorate gingerbread men and have dinner with his husband and one other friend. He acknowledged Tristan, shared the very few memories he had of him (my friend was a previous work colleague, so his interaction with my family had been minimal), and then just carried on as usual; bantering with his husband, arguing light-heartedly about which ornaments go where, and chatting about things other than grief over a delicious meal. And it was so restorative for me! I got to decorate a tree without being stabbed in the heart by every ornament I pulled out of the box. I dressed gingerbread men in icing and sprinkles without remembering how they were Tristan’s favourites, because he’d never tasted these ones. I enjoyed a meal where grief was not the centrepiece. That was the easiest and, in some ways, most enjoyable part of Christmas for me that first year. That evening, I had one foot in the land of the living, rather than the land of those lost.
However you choose, or are able, to get through the holidays this year, I wish you moments of joy and peace and love as you navigate this new world of grief.