It’s a pinch, a weight, a heaviness around the heart that causes the breath to catch. It sneaks up at stupidly silly times. Today, at a mundane flip of a page in a planner to a lined date — December 22.
Seeing it stings like a slap.
I feel huffy. What right has that entry to exist, all-innocent in its blankness? Popping up every year like it belongs there, the audacity. This date, acting like it’s every other space-in-waiting, surrounded by the scribbles of operations that fills the days around it.
A date like any other? I think not, sir.
This day needs to be retired like a number on a sports jersey, skipped completely like a 13th floor, or edged in gilt as a national day of mourning.
I think it’s the expectant blankness that bothers me.
My mom died in hospice in the early morning of Dec. 22, 2022. We granted this day some magical powers at the time. Of course the holiday hostess with the mostest wouldn’t want to link Christmas festivities with mourning her after-ever. Of course she wouldn’t want her most precious granddaughter to feel sad on her Dec. 25 birthday. Of course she wanted to slip away privately in the wee hours of morning, no fuss and bother.
Wanting to believe it was her choice is one of many mystical forays we cling to, the stories slowly wearing ruts onto the family path. The praying mantis that appeared at sad moments. A freak wind out of stillness that flung a photo off its easel, dissolving memorial service nerves into laughter. Gentle reminders of a presence we miss that bestows comfort, lightening the load of the everyday sadness we carry. They are gifts I suspend my stubborn logic to appreciate.
Those who deal with grief professionally say the holidays are particularly hard.
It’s a strange juxtaposition of cheer-by-design with sadness, a jarring blend of decades of memories shaken with the loosened moorings of change. We grieve alone, even when we’re surrounded by others feeling the same loss, as no two of us experience it the same way.
There’s guilt, too. How can we feel sad when there is so much to celebrate? Why would we want to Debbie-downer the “most wonderful time of the year?” Why bring sadness to those who are filling that date in the calendar with new relationships, new families, new traditions and change, change, change? There’s even guilt when we are actually enjoying ourselves, because how could we?
I even feel guilty just writing this and sharing it, as I’d rather impart some important insight, or at least make you snort laugh or smile.
But, in case there is anyone out there who has gotten one of those unbidden, unasked for and unwelcome pinches, stings or slaps this year, you’re not alone.
These holly-jolly holidays have their own type of seasonal baggage, but it can be a gift. Unwrap it tenderly.