The Holidays Can Be Hard - When "Little" Things Feel Big

“Don’t throw balls in the living room” I intoned, once again, to my then-ten year old son. 

He is a boy of boundless energy, continually fidgeting, tossing a football, swinging a shirt like a lasso…you get the idea. 

And despite the drone of my almost-daily guidance, he still knocks around the living room.  It was only a matter of time. 

I was back in the bedroom when I heard the breaking:  ceramic crashed against the tile.  I knew in a moment:  it was one of the birds. 

In the grey and grinding months after our daughter, Mercy Joan, died, my mother gave me a set of seven ceramic birds.  “A reminder that you will always be a family of seven.”  I displayed them on our mantle…poignant, a little cheesy, and unfortunately vulnerable to the daily antics of Magnus.

I heaved myself into the hallway, emotion rising, and found a stunned Magnus, frozen in horror over the wreckage of the birds. 

And a primal scream of agony tore its way through my throat.  I screamed and screamed and screamed a third and final time before falling to my knees before the fireplace, gathering up the fragments of the broken birds. 

All of this on an unassuming Tuesday afternoon.  I didn’t awaken that morning with a sense of overwhelming grief and anger.  The day felt unremarkable, one more in the slow flow of weeks. 

And grief can be like that, especially in the medium term. The loss is scabbing over, no longer bleeding into every moment.  But in an instant (like during the hoidays), the wound is torn open again.

For the remainder of the month, I’m going to be writing about tips for the holidays.  Many times, I write about ways to support others through meaningful words and gestures.  But today, I’m talking to those that mourn.  The grievers.  The ones who are still metabolizing their sorrow.  

The holidays can be tricky.  Maybe it is a lost job or a broken relationship.  A burial or a deep despair.

A colleague lost his son, George, to a drug overdose a few years ago.  George especially loved all things Christmas, especially the commercials.  Now, each time a holiday jingle plays, my friend finds himself doused by grief.   

Here are some of my thoughts on navigating grief in the holiday season

You aren’t alone or broken.  There are many others walking through the “happiest time of the year” carrying silent burdens.

Grief is love.  The emotions you feel manifest because you loved someone.  And that love, in all of its imperfections and individuality, was-and-is beautiful. 

What you resist, persists.  We can want to get past the unwieldy emotions.  But the only way is through.  I wailed on the ground and then in my room for 45 minutes after the broken bird.  Make space for sadness.

What is a way that you can physically honor your grief?  Our feelings live and express themselves in our bodies and our bodies help us metabolize those emotions.  Maybe this is lighting a candle, dancing to the song you shared together, or visiting the gravesite.

After the shattering, I ordered a slew of replacement birds from an artisan in Peru.  Now, when a bird breaks (and they do…because the children will. not. stop. throwing. balls.), I unwrap a new bird to put on the mantle and consider:  “Nothing stays the same, but I will honor my daughter and my love for her in new ways.”