Way Away

Jenner's been begging to put up Halloween decorations.  I normally would have them out by now, but not this year.  I just knew the emptiness that would follow, knowing how much Aspen loved putting up these decorations.  Jenner has always enjoyed it too, but Aspen, he loved it.  He loved everything and approached life from such a different viewpoint.  He relished in everything, especially holidays. Our last memory of decorating for the holidays was the day of his accident.  Saturday, June 18th.  We spent the entire morning decorating for the 4th of July.  We hung our patriotic buntings across the railing as we always do for Memorial Day and the 4th.  We had bought new red white and blue pinwheels from Von Maur together just a few days before.  I couldn't just buy a few, he insisted that I  buy all they had in the store.  He must have moved those pinwheels around the yard 25 times that day.  I used to look so forward to holidays.  I go a little overboard as most who know me would say. Holidays are now forever changed.  It makes me sad to think instead of bringing me joy, that they will now bring sadness.  Sadness of what once was.  Sadness of missing my sweet Angel. Now as I look forward to the next holiday, they approach with me thinking not about the fun, but thinking about how painful the day will be for me.  I'm assuming this is normal, but I wonder if people ever get the excitement back.  I personally can't fathom it, not right now anyway.  We have so many big holidays fast approaching with Halloween, Thanksgiving, Jenner's Birthday in November, Aspen's Birthday in December and Aspen's favorite holiday, Christmas.  UGH!  How do people do this?  I found an article that perfectly articulates how it feels to navigate the holidays while grieving.  I pray to God to get me through the next 3 months for my family as I know in my heart, these months will be the worst yet for me.  

Deep in December...

I was beginning to do better, I thought I was doing better, but a few days ago,
the holidays just hit me.

A widow, contemplating her first Christmas alone
Quote from Healing After Loss by Martha Whitmore Hickman

The holiday season is upon us but for many the month of December brings deep grief. We weep with the "quiet sense of something lost" as we recall happier times. The whole world seems poised for celebration while holiday memories flood us and make grief feel fresh again.

Each of us has a list of time-honored traditions, from hanging the stockings or lighting the candles, to baking holiday treats and attending sacred services. They are part of who we are and how we share our happiness with the people we love. Now one of the people we love is gone.

December may be “the most wonderful time of the year,” but it can also be the most painful. There is a profound difference between the external trappings of the season and the way we feel inside. What once delighted us now feels empty and we cringe at all the hoopla. Doesn't anyone know how much we hurt? The gaiety surrounds us and accentuates our feelings of loss.

Retail stores assault our senses with an endless overhead discord of saccharine songs. Every time I hear Silver Bells I want to break somebody's CD. Or, the sights, sounds, smells and tastes of the season fill us with longing of times past and the one who has died. During the first Christmas season after my mother died, I walked into a bakery in late December and it smelled like the sugar cookies Mom used to make. The aroma flooded me with grief anew. I walked out without buying anything.

The season brings its own brand of anguish if the holiday memories of our loved one are polluted with drunkenness, fighting, or other forms of dysfunction. Now that our loved one is gone, we know that there is no chance to create happier holiday memories with them. This powerlessness to create new memories with the one for whom we grieve intensifies the loss: it never was, and now, it never will be.

Another difficult period arises when enough time has passed after the death that the grief is in the background, but we have not yet reconciled ourselves (adjusted) to life without our loved one. The dull ache of absence envelops us like fog even as we try so hard to be cheerful.

Sometimes we feel free to talk about our grief with friends or family, and if our grief is brand new, we will want to talk about it. Sometimes we feel so alone in our suffering that we want to scream.

In some families, sorrow is regarded as a contagious and undesirable condition. It is expected that we be active and in good spirits during the month of December. This often leads to our becoming more sad, or angry, because we cannot pretend to be cheerful. Even though the calendar dictates it, we do not feel jolly.

According to grief counselor and author Alan Wolfelt, the holiday season complicates grief and heightens pain. He offers the following suggestions to help grievers get through the holiday season: (From the foreword of A Decembered Grief, page 9.)

1. Talk about your grief.

2. Be tolerant of your physical and psychological limits.

3. Eliminate unnecessary stress.

4. Be with supportive, comforting people. I was most comforted when I spent time with the few (rare) people in my life who knew how to listen. They allowed me to talk about my grief, or cry, without trying to cheer me up or change the subject. Cheerleaders annoyed me.

5. Talk about the person who has died.

6. Do what is right for you.

7. Plan ahead for family gatherings.

8. Embrace your treasure of memories.

9. Ask for help if you need it.

10. Express your faith.

The holiday blues are a normal part of grief. Unspoken gloom hovers over all attempts to celebrate. When this happens, it is best for us to stop, embrace those around us that we trust and hold dear and acknowledge the grief.

Responding to tragedy and loss with sorrow is evidence of our humanity. Grief is an expression of our love for the dear one who has died and it deserves as much respect as joy and happiness. By expressing our sadness, our love, we have a chance at finding new and unexpected tenderness in the season of hope.

Note: Men and women do not express the powerful emotions of grief the same way. I once read that when it comes to grief, "women cry and men sigh." In other words, grieving women cry more and want to talk about the deceased loved one while grieving men become quiet, or angry, and busy themselves with projects.

It is important to avoid stereotypes, however. Of course some men shed tears and some women cope with a flurry of activity. There is no right and wrong way for men and women to grieve.

Sunny days seem to hurt the most
I wear the pain like a heavy coat
I feel you everywhere I go
I see your smile, I see your face
I hear you laughing in the rain
I still can't believe you're gone

It ain't fair you died too young
Like a story that had just begun
But death tore the pages all away
God knows how I miss you
All the hell that I've been through
Just knowing no one could take your place
Sometimes I wonder who you'd be today

Would you see the world, would you chase your dreams
Settle down with a family
I wonder what would you name your babies
Some days the sky's so blue
I feel like I can talk to you
I know it might sound crazy

It ain't fair you died too young
Like a story that had just begun
But death tore the pages all away
God knows how I miss you
All the hell that I've been through
Just knowing no one could take your place
Sometimes I wonder who you'd be today

Today, today, today
Today, today, today

Sunny days seem to hurt the most
I wear the pain like a heavy coat
The only thing that gives me hope
Is I know I'll see you again someday

Someday, someday

                      - Kenny Chesney