My mom died December 30, 2013. After doing what I needed to do to get through the holiday season leading up to her death, I then did what I needed to do to get through that particular day. When we lose someone, we have to remind ourselves to breathe in, breathe out, eat something, continue to exist…
As the following year unfolded, I felt crushing waves of grief. I also felt deep gratitude that I had the mother I had, even though our time together wasn’t nearly long enough. I still kept mothering my own children, still kept working, still kept existing.
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Then Christmas 2014 was on the horizon and everything reminded me of that great loss. One evening I wanted to buy a special tree ornament that reminded me of my mom. I stood in the back of the large department store, evaluating every single ornament.
What welled up in me was resentment for every one of them. They were not enough: not shiny enough, not special enough, not precious enough, not right. None of them expressed what I wanted the ornament say – how much I missed her, how much I loved her, how no Christmas would ever be the same.
After no less than an hour evaluating the ornaments, I suddenly burst into tears. Nothing would do. She was gone. I was in unbearable pain. With no ornament in hand, I headed for the store exit. A kind shopper asked me if I was okay, but I could not speak. I finally made it to my car and, in the darkened parking lot, called my sister and cried.
My friend, I understand grief. I understand grieving through the holidays. No one wants it, but sometimes it is simply thrust upon us. When it is our turn, it looks like everyone around us is happy and free. We wonder what is wrong with us, why we can’t seem to find joy, and why we can’t be grateful for what we do have.
However, nothing is wrong with you. Grief is natural and normal.
Grief is a testament to love. Like stormy weather, grief passes in time, or at least becomes far less severe. Here are a few suggestions that might help when you find yourself grieving through the holidays:
Do something to honor the person you lost
When my mom died, I found great comfort cooking her recipes with her pots and pans. I also decorated a special Christmas tree in her honor. This tree was not my family’s usual artificial version complete with modern decorations. This one was a real pine, adorned with silver tinsel and colored bulbs, the way my mom would decorate it. I returned to that store and found the ornament I thought she would want me to have – one of a smiling snowman that said “Joy.” She would want my Christmases to be joyful. Cooking like she did helped me remember she was still close to me. Decorating a special tree reminded me of my childhood with her. These objects and activities helped me feel better.
What can you do? Can you spend time engaging in a hobby your loved one enjoyed? Did they love fishing, woodwork, knitting, photography? Did they camp, walk along the beach, or paint? When we do what they once did, we forget time and forget their absence. We reconnect with their essence and feel their joy. Can you also create a special space for them: a seat at the table, a special tree, a shelf or part of a table to place their belongings, pictures, and mementos? Honoring them soothes the soul much more than carrying on as if they are not occupying your heart.
Talk about your loved one
When my mother died, I discussed my feelings with my husband and siblings. I remembered my mom fondly with my children, who were also grieving the loss of their grandma. I shared memories of my mom with close friends. I poured out my thoughts in a journal. The act of verbalizing my love of my mother, and even my profound feelings of loss, helped me heal.
What can you do? Find people who will patiently listen to you. Even if you repeat yourself, share your memories of your loved one, and share the emotions you feel now that they are gone. In our culture, we often say that we need to “be strong,” which means be silent about our difficult emotions. We say we “don’t want to bring others down,” which means we refrain from sharing our authentic selves. But sometimes we are not simply “fine, thanks.” True friends and loving family will be able to listen if you are experiencing a painful holiday without a loved one. I’m sure you will return the favor someday. Grief courses through a person’s body and mind. Rather than bottle it up, the best thing a person can do is allow grief expression.
Simplify your holidays
That first Christmas without my mom was painful, so I didn’t feel like going the extra mile. I didn’t bake, send cards, or attend parties. I gave myself time and space to heal. I learned that when I lost my mom to death, I experienced a trauma that affected everything about me. My body sometimes felt exhausted and depleted. My mind felt distracted, numb, foggy, or depressed. My spirit felt lost, weary, and hurting. I could not predict or control the animal that is “grief,” but I did learn grief was powerful and demanded time and attention. I realized there was no need to explain or apologize when I needed to make this particular holiday simple and easy. Instead of giving so much that year, I asked for what I needed: rest, space, a walk in a park, time watching movies, extra cookies, lots of love. Most importantly, I learned to love and be there for myself.
What can you do? What can you cut out of your holiday this year? Do you need take-out food instead of your own cooking? That’s fine. Do you need to stay home rather than travel to someone else’s house? Let it be known. Do you need to skip the parties elsewhere and the entertaining at your home and watch the Hallmark channel in your pajamas? Sounds like a plan. There is no holiday rule book, and each year can look vastly different from the last. No one is standing in judgment. Most importantly, even though others can and will love you, please learn to even more fully love and care for yourself.
It will get better, I promise. Grief’s intense demands will not last forever. You will feel better in direct proportion to the amount of care and love you give yourself. Only you know what that needs to look like this year. For me, years later, I feel my mom’s spirit with me, and my holidays are joyful and special. I still cook with her cookware, and I still hang her special ornament on the tree. But I can only feel this healed because I let myself have a year when I didn’t. My wish for you this difficult year is that you honor your loved one, talk about them, and give yourself a simple, enjoyable, comforting holiday. By this, may you find a bit of healing and peace.
STEPHANIE LAPE
Stephanie Lape is a pastor in the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA).
She holds a Master of Arts degree in Transpersonal Psychology (the psychology of religious experience) from the Institute of Transpersonal Psychology, and a Master of Divinity degree from Luther Seminary. A long-time professor of comparative religions and former campus minister, she now serves as pastor at Eden Lutheran Church in Riverside, California.
Stephanie speaks and teaches on matters of spiritual and psychological development, biblical studies, the enneagram personality tool, and comparative religions. She is an active advocate for interfaith and ecumenical studies. She has taught classes on major religious movements in churches, schools, and city programs, while also leading tours and guest speaking at mosques, synagogues, and temples. Stephanie is honored to be a speaker at the 2021 and 2023 Parliament of the World’s Religions.
She also loves to write. Stephanie is a contributing author for Living Lutheran Magazine and author of Beckoned: Hearing God’s Call to Deeper Faith, which is both a travelogue of her own winding spiritual journey, as well as a guide to help people discover their own path. She lives with her husband and two children in Southern California.
