 Don’t tell me how to get through the holidays ARENAC COUNTY - I remember my first holiday season after the loss of my husband. It had been eight months since he exited this mortal world, and it was now reaching that infamous 12-month mark when everyone really starts telling you that it’s “time to move on,” “time to pull up the ole bootstraps,” or “time to put the big girl pants on,” or my absolute favorite, “You need to date my son.” We’ve all heard the clichés, and while those expressing words of comfort and encouragement have the best intentions for the bereaved, it still can just simply “piss” you off. I could sugarcoat this blog and make it more “politically-correct,” but the fact of the matter is, sometimes happy celebrations and words of wisdom on how you should feel and when you should feel it are counterproductive to healing and quite frankly can really tick a person off. No one can tell you how to feel or when to feel it. That is not how feelings work, and it’s certainly not how grief works. My husband died at the beginning of spring, when the maple trees and tulips were just starting to bud in Northeast Michigan and red-breasted robins were once again being sighted and reported by residents to the weekly newspapers. The robins’ migration back to the area was always a welcoming sign for locals of warmer weather ahead, the roar of tractors and the hustle and bustle of the tourist season to our quiet, little towns. That year, however, the robins came and went, with little to no attention from me, and now the calendar reflected it was time for tidings of comfort and joy. Quite frankly, I wasn’t feelin’ the comfort or the joy and if Santa’s elf, Herbie, wanted to be a dentist for Christmas, I wanted to live on the Isle of Mis-fit toys. I didn’t want to celebrate. I didn’t want to sing carols. I didn’t want to make cookies, and I didn’t want to go shopping. I just wanted it all to go away without my participation, and if one more person asked me, I was going to find a candy cane and stuff it in their stocking myself. Now, some may wonder why a funeral home owner would reveal such private, intimate details about her grief journey. Well, I’m here to tell you, “I’m not special.” Five holiday seasons later, while I’m writing this blog with Brenda Lee’s, “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” playing in the background, I know someone else is out there rocking in a chair with a picture of a loved one held close to their chest, and I want them to know that it’s okay. Someone is praying for you. This holiday season, celebrate or meditate, just give yourself permission to feel and be forgiving of yourself and others. There is no playbook for the heart. |
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