Hurting Holidays

A poem for the ones we miss:

Your Best Christmas is Now

My tree adorned is not as bright,

Nor fresh, clean snow so sparkling.

But you--now see Christmas through Heaven's light

Christ's love and fire crackling.

Pieces of my soul still missing,

In this half mirror dream I'm wrestling.

But you--finally full at peace

In Emmanuel's arms are resting.

During our season of multiple losses, I turned to poetry. Maybe the genre reflected what I had to give – short, simple sentences. One reflection, one image at a time. One breath was all I had to process as I seemed to be gasping for my own.

I wrote this poem at Christmas, while I wept next to the tree. The poem was sent in Christmas cards, which I now realize only happened on auto pilot. A lot of things only happened based in habits and routines because my soul was simply not in it...in any of it. A pregnant teacher at the time, I would sob the entire 20-minute drive to and from work, because it was the only time I had alone, and I didn’t want to cry in front of my students.

Events, holidays, and moments are different after loss. Never mind the day-to-day meetings or inconsequential conflicts over tiny things that reinforce whatever emotion was there: anger, sadness, numbness... Relay-4-Life, a yearly cancer fundraiser with 300 kids, was different. And I couldn’t say no when a friend who leads a loss group asked me to write a book for kids who have lost siblings. The counseling books Special Person: We Lost a Little and Special Person vs Cancer were born out of that time and all the stories.

For my hurting friends I am so very sorry. We all are. It’s not okay. And if you feel not okay, that's okay.

Take your time. Process how and when you need. There are no rules. The hope I can offer you is but a small one... right now loss is THE story. Someday, it will become A story. A great, important, life-defining story...that stands alongside other stories, some as deeply joyful as the depth of your mourning now.

For those supporting someone grieving during the holidays, after a hundred stories, these are the key things to remember: say the lost one’s name out loud; choose patience and kindness—healing is different for everyone and there is no set path; be thoughtful with your words and remember that presence is often more helpful than advice; it takes time and yes, your person has changed, as anyone whose experiences a defining moment will; just show up and keep showing up after the month of flowers and sorry notes have ended and the years continue where it take time to find new paths.

And if you can find something that’s a small hope, a small good, lean into it. A local church puts on an evening service called Blue Christmas. It is for those who can’t do the normal routine. It is kind and gentle and sees you.

If someone is willing to show up, let them. We had several families from a local church and my school drive two hours into the mountains and attend a funeral of a man they never met. Just to be there with us. That gift of love has only grown in my soul over the years.

Find a symbolic moment. Even this past spring, a lovely human reminded me of some stories I still needed to breathe out. I had been holding them tightly so long they had festered and grown toxic. I sat in front of the ocean and threw 23 rocks in the sea representing students and kids I’ve known. With each one, I said their name and whispered, “May you rest and play in peace.” It was small, but beautiful.

We mourn with you. We sit with you. We remember with you. And we love you, right where you are.

May a small, beautiful moment visit you this season and surround you, if only for a moment, in that love.